The Doctrine Drug
by EmmeliaStories
Summary: A terrible power approaches Earth, and it's greatest heroes must find each other and work together. Heroes who just happen to be hunters, a consulting detective, and a mad man with a box. SuperWhoLock Fanfic. A little Destiel/Johnlock/AmyxEleven Rated T for language and violence. Review, favorite, and follow!
1. Chapter 1

Chapter 1

Dean was tired. Not only had Sam and he been driving all day, causing his ass to ache, and yet at the same time giving him the itch to walk, but then as soon as they got to the crappy motel of the day, Sam had been intent on finding a new case. They had just been on a zombie case the day before, and busy on a whole crapload of demon exorcisms in this one tiny town in Kentucky the day before that. Dean was nearly falling asleep at the trashy plywood table by the window of the dimly lit room of the "King's Motel", the seedy motel in upstate New York that they were staying at.

"Sammy, can I go to bed?" Dean was barely keeping awake as he was, constantly nodding off and staring absentmindedly off into the distance instead of scanning nationwide newspapers like he was supposed to.

"No, Dean. We need to find our next case."

"Dude, we just finished one like, a day ago. Not even twenty-four hours have passed since then. I'm tired! I just one want one day where I can drink, eat pie, and just... relax." Dean leaned back in his seat, stretching his arms up and yawning obnoxiously. Sam glanced up from his laptop, straightened his posture, and glared at Dean.

"You drink everyday anyway."

Dean smirked, a little sadly. "Yeah, but you know what I mean."

"Dean, I'm trying to get work done."

"Yeah, so was I for the past five hours, but I think I'm done for the night." Dean got up, nearly stumbling, made his way to the bed and collapsed.

Sam rested his head on his hand, and turned towards Dean in his chair. "Did you notice our cases are slowing down?"

Dean grumbled something nonsensical into his pillow.

"Dean, use your words."

Dean tiredly flipped onto his back. "Nah, not really. I don't know. It seems like we've been really, really, really freaking busy."

"Yeah, for like the past two days we've been busy, but not..." Sam sighed, and leaned back. "These cases have been more spread apart. And moving east. We've hardly had any demonic possession cases in the past month, and then the first one we find, it's a giant pack of them. Hardly seems like a coincidence."

"Sam, nothing is a coincidence in our lives."

"Yeah, exactly my point."

Dean sighed. "What, exactly, is your point again?"

"The demons... from what we can see... they're... travelling." Sam frowned at his screen.

"What is it? One big demon road trip? Where are they going?"

"I don't know. Definitely towards the East coast-"

"The East coast is pretty large, Sammy."

"No duh. Dean? You gonna let me finish?"

Dean sighed, and sat up in his bed. He rubbed his eyes, staring at Sam, his expression clouded with exhaustion and boredom. "Fine."

"Well. That's the weird thing. They're just kind of going... all over. From the maps Bobby sent us-" Sam clicked away, turning the computer to Dean, showing him a jumble of colorful maps. "Show that most demonic signs are now moving East, like I said, but then they just... disappear. It's like they're leaving the U.S."

Dean was silent for a moment, and stayed lying on his back, simply staring at the ceiling.

"So?"

"So? Dean, this is the most demonic activity we've seen in- well, since the demons were trying to break the 66 Seals."

"Yeah, but they're leaving America right?"

"Well, there have been a bunch of mass murders in London that look like demon-"

"Sam, if they're leaving the States, then it's not really our problem."

"Not our problem- Dean, we're hunters. We hunt demons. We follow the demons, and if they're going to the East coast, then so are we." Sam stared at Dean, exasperated.

"We're not freaking superheroes, Sam. We can't travel the world to gank these guys. We have enough shit going on here. I mean, yeah, whatever you say, our cases have been slowing down. But if we leave, what if a shifter shows up in New Mexico? There are few enough hunters here, and it's just going to be one big deal to find out where they're going, which could be anywhere in-"

"Sam's right." A deep, resonant voice interjected as a flapping of wings was heard. Sam jumped, knocking into the wall behind him. Dean laughed, rolling back onto his stomach. A man, with deep blue eyes and tousled black hair in a long, tan overcoat was now in the room, staring with intensity at both brothers.

"What the hell, Cas?" Sam gasped out, holding his chest.

"I don't understand the question." Castiel tilted his head to the side with curiosity.

Sam shook off his fear, and laughed a little. "Great timing, Cas. Dean was monologuing."

"My point was that I don't think we need to go backpacking in France to do our job, Sam."

"Well, not France. London. And maybe not backpacking. I think you'll be able to find appropriate accommodations." Sam looks up at Cas.

"What do you mean?"

Cas shuffled, slightly awkwardly, to the other twin bed, regarding it with distaste before sitting down gingerly.

"This room seems less than satisfactory, Dean."

"It was this, or drive another five hours or so until we got to the next town. And I wasn't driving anymore today." Dean said, sighing deeply. "I guess I'm just not going to sleep tonight. That's fine."

"What do you mean, Cas?" Sam looked worried.

"Well, these demons, the ones Bobby has shown to you on his maps, they are leaving the United States of America."

"Great. We know. And I bet you're going to ask us to follow them." Dean grumbled.

"Well, yes. I was thinking about the concept. I'm glad you think it's... great."

Dean rolled his eyes.

"Castiel, where are they going exactly? We have heard about London, is that it?" Sam asked.

"The angels have been noticing patterns. The demons who have access to Earth are collecting around England."

"The demons are visiting the Brits?" Dean sat up.

"Well, I wouldn't describe it as visiting, I am quite sure that the demons are not socially calling the English."

"Then, why are they there?" Sam got up, moving towards Castiel, and pushed Dean's feet with little care to the side, and sat at the foot of the bed.

Castiel cleared his throat. "Not sure. But something's going on there, something big. They seem to be gravitating towards some kind of a higher power."

"Higher power?" Dean scoffed. "What, like a powerful demon? A god?"

"Well- to be honest..."

Cas trailed off. Sam glanced at Dean in confusion, frowning slightly. He turned back to Cas, his dark eyebrows raised.

"To be honest?"

"We're... not quite sure."

"What?" Dean laughed, putting his hand behind his. Castiel turned to him, still face a straight face, yet not slightly darkened. "Are you serious?" Dean sat up, squinting slightly at the angel. "The angels don't know what this thing is?"

"Well, at least my garrison stationed on Earth. Whatever it is... it's managed to get here unnoticed, until now."

A silence sat on the room, as the group took in this information. Sam nervously combed his brown hair back with his fingers.

"So it's not a demon? Or an angel?"

"As far as we can tell, no, it is not."

Sam nervously rattled off any other supernatural creature he could think of. "Or a ghost, or a wendigo, or a vampire nest, or a-"

"Clearly, none of those things are strong enough to attract that much demon attention."

Dean jumped up from the bed, and started to pace back and forth across the room.

"Wait, wait, wait. How come you guys haven't just gone over there and checked it out? Since when are angels afraid of a couple-"

"A couple hundred." Castiel corrected Dean, leaving Sam to turn on him with panicked eyes.

"Okay, a couple hundred," Dean continued, more nervously, "demons?"

"Well, it's not the demons they're scared of. It's whatever is attracting them."

Dean laughed, staring at Cas. "So you're going to ask us to go in to a shit storm of demons to fight something that you and the rest of your bird brained flock are too pussy to even approach?"

Castiel leaned in towards Dean. His blue eyes danced with more anger now, a newer emotion to Castiel, but a side effect of spending copious amounts of time with humans. "We believe that you, as nearly ordinary humans, will detect less attention than angels. We are being of immense power. Immense, very obvious, power."

Dean stood up, moving to stand next to Sam. He spoke, with obvious resentment. "We have shit to do here too, Cas. We're not just Heaven's delivery boys. In fact, I believe, that is you dicks' jobs." Dean began to turn away from Cas, heading towards the bathroom. "Now find some other asshats to be your bait for luring out-"

Cas appeared only inches in front of Dean, and his eyes bore into Dean's.

"This is a direct command from the Heavens. Have faith in us." Cas spoke with a slow deliberate tone, speaking only to Dean. Cas knew if he could convince Dean, Sam would follow. That's how they worked. When Cas first met them. Dean was the leader, Sam was the follower. Though sometimes, Cas wasn't sure anymore. "We are the messengers of God. And we will protect you two from any harm. Believe that."

Dean backed up from Cas, his cheeks a little flushed, accentuating the little freckles that dotted his nose. Cas tilted his head slightly, looking towards the ceiling, staring at the water stain building on the off-white wall.

"Cas?" Sam moved towards him, touching Cas' arm lightly. Cas seemed to suddenly snap out of this trance, and looked over Sam once.

"I must leave, I detect something. Be in England. I'll meet you on the plane."

"Wouldn't it be easier to just give us a-" But in a flutter of wings and a rush of wind, Castiel was gone, leaving only Sam and Dean looking at the empty spot on the grossly neglected carpet.

"Well, that was a dick move." Dean stood up straighter, staring at Sam.

"I guess we'd better pack." Sam moved to start packing, but Dean blocked him with his arm, glaring at him.

"We're just going to take orders from these winged idiots now? We're not their errand boys, Sam. We have our own shit to do." Sam shrugged off Dean's arm, and headed towards the bags. "Oh come on, Sam. You're just going to let them walk all over you?" Dean said, annoyed. He followed Sam around the room, not unlike a puppy following his master. "Come on Sammy, let's just sleep, and think about this in the morning-"

"Dean, pack."

"I'm still not sure this is a good idea-"

"Come on Dean. I mean, literally, God is asking us to do this. Also, Cas has saved our asses enough times that we owe him one." Dean leaned back on the wall, staring at Sam packing for a moment, then giving a dramatic sigh and grabbing his bag.

"Fine. You know, you used to listen to the shit I had to say."

"Yeah, when I was like twelve, Dean." Sam chuckled, grabbing his t-shirts and shoving them into the burlap duffle.

"Whatever." Dean pouted.

"I'll go check us out."

"Wait- Sam," Dean said nervously, pulling at his collar a little.

Sam stopped for moment, looking back at Dean. "Yeah? What?"

"Does this mean we're taking a plane?"

A childish grin spread across Sam's face.

"I mean, we're not taking the Impala there."

"Goddammit," said Dean as he sat, helplessly, back on one of the chairs.


	2. Chapter 2

Chapter 2

"RORY WILLIAMS! Don't sneak up on me, I'm writing!" Rory wrapped his arms around his giggling wife and kissed her on the cheek.

"Hello to you too."

"How was work?" Amy didn't take her eyes off of the screen. She was writing something about the newest trend in pants, something the public seemed to find endearingly interesting. An article about pants was the most interesting thing Amy had done in weeks.

"Oh, you know. The usual. Boring." Rory peeled off his sky-blue scrubs, stumbling off to change before sinking onto the plush maroon couch and turning on the television.

Boring. Dull. Tired. That's how Amelia Pond-Williams described days without the Doctor at her side. Why write stories about pants when she could be off in space fighting fairytale monsters, or peeping in on historical events she should never be physically allowed to witness? She missed that madman with his assorted bow ties, no matter how dangerous that life was.

Amy shut her laptop, and, sighing, sat down beside Rory, gluing her eyes to the TV screen. Amy had never been a huge fan of TV- she much preferred a nice book. After half an hour of listening to the news, her eyes began to wander. To the perfectly dusted, clear corners of their vanilla house, to the matching pillow cushions on their loveseat, to the sickeningly bright florescent lights in artfully designed lamp shades-

The lights flickered.

"Rory," Amy looked at him. "Change the lightbulb, will you?" Rory heaved himself up.

The lights flickered again.

Suddenly, a black cloud of noxious smoke puffed out of the air vent with violent force towards Amy. The sound of her screams merged with the sound of the TARDIS, and Amy stumbled backwards into the Doctor's arms, Rory in tow.

The Doctor slammed the door before the smoke could envelop them. He spun around, running a hand through his mop-like hair. "That," he said, out of breath, "was a Demon."

"What? A Demon, no, those don't exist. It was something wrong with the vents, maybe a fire-" Rory stammered.

"Rory, you have been through so much, seen things no one else has. You really mean to tell me you can't believe in a simple demon? I had the TARDIS protected against demonic activity a long time ago."

"Aliens, I can do. Demons? Doctor, there's got to be a logical explan-"

"Rory, they're real." Amy seemed to be whispering to the floor, her eyes cast downward, her gaze blank. "I know they're real."

"Amy?" The Doctor glanced uneasily back and forth between Amy and Rory. "Amy, what happened?"

"When I was little," Amy swallowed, took a breath. "I went into a shop with Mel. We saw the same black smoke, except it went inside the shopkeeper, and his eyes turned black, and-" Amy choked on a sob. "He took a gun out of his pocket. Mel and I ran out, but once we got outside we heard the gunshots, and saw the blood on the windows. We never told anyone. I mean, I never knew what it was before... now. I always thought- you know, it was some kind of alien. Knowing what we knew then, with the Doctor... but the smoke. Rory, the smoke was the same, exactly the same."

The Doctor looked at his feet; the gentle, quiet hum of the TARDIS creating a lulling background noise to Amy's gasps and tears, and Rory's mumbling affirmations. He crouched next to the Ponds. "This may scare you, but you need to listen very, very carefully. I completely understand if you no longer wish to travel with me. These things, these servants of Hell, they're after me. They know the power I possess, and they think that if they can somehow get my soul, my being, and bring it to their Hell, then it will aid their army and help them rise up."

"So you're saying... Heaven, Hell, they exist? Like, as real things? In real life?" Rory's voice seemed to get increasingly distressed as he realized what he was saying.

"Yes... that seems to be correct." The Doctor nervously rubbed his fingers together, staring intently at the Ponds. He had no idea how they would react. In fact, the Doctor himself had a hard time wrapping his head around this when he first found out, even with a head such as the Doctor's. Rory's jaw dropped further, if possible, and fell back as dead weight on one of the railings of the TARDIS, nearly hitting his head on one of the walls as he did.

"And... then... God?"

"That, I'm not quite sure about. It would be an interesting concept to investigate however, but the existence of some omnipotent being does seem very, very, much more likely now, with these hellish ooglie booglies waltzing about-"

"Oh... God... or... er..." Rory put his head in his hands.

"Why do they need an army?" Amy asked, her state of shock seemingly interrupted.

"Well, obviously, they want to overtake Heaven and get out of Hell. I mean, it is... Hell. Probably not the nicest place to be." The Doctor stared at Amy as if this was an obvious fact.

Amy raised her eyes towards the Doctor. "I'm not afraid. If I can take Weeping Angels, Silence, and Silurians, I can no doubt take these things."

"Uh, Amy, I dunno, they seem kinda..." Rory paused, licked his lips. "More dangerous in a different sort of way, I guess. They kill... humans. On purpose. For no reason."

"So do half the other things we fight, Rory." Amy said, staring still only at the Doctor.

"But they're much easier to destroy. Or at least, I think. Possibly. Most likely. I think I know people who can help out with that in any case." The Doctor grinned and jumped up, straightening his bow tie. "Come along, Ponds! We've got a demon army to kill."

* * *

Hey there readers! Thank you so much... for... well... reading! We have the third chapter already rolling out, so we'll post it really soon. Review and follow and you'll get a guinea pig wearing a top hat in the mail ;)


	3. Chapter 3

BANG.

John Watson was awoken from his nap by a gunshot coming from the den. Its echo resonated through the small apartment, shattering all pleasant fragments of his dream.

There was another shot. Sherlock, thought John, is bored.

He shuffled into the living room. His roommate lay sprawled messily on the sofa, in his standard robe and pajamas, a pistol in his hand and a nicotine patch on his arm. They'd had no cases for at least a month, and the wall was littered with stray bullet holes. John warily eyed the tiny gun in Sherlock's lazily careless hand before crossing the foyer and sitting on the couch across from him.

"So, I think I found a case."

"Oh please, John. Is it another convenience store robbery like last time? Because if it is, then you can go back to your room so the sound of me shooting the wall doesn't fry the last bit of your brain." Sherlock rolled over.

"Um, no, it is not another robbery, not in the least, actually, but what is with you and murder? Isn't it a good thing that there aren't any serial killers roaming the streets?"

"Not for a consulting detective. I like a good murder. They stimulate my mind."

"Ah, well." John cleared his throat. "That aside, I'm assuming you want some details on the case?"

"POSSIBLE case," Sherlock corrected.

"Possible case. Right. Anyways, it's a murder case."

Sherlock sat up.

"But it's odd, Sherlock. Even for you. There have been multiple mass murders within the past few weeks, all ending with suicides, all with similar stories."

"The witnesses all reported similarly?"

"Yes. Each witness reported black smoke in the room seconds before each attack, and it was reported that each attacker, after inhaling the smoke, obtained black, orb-like eyes."

"And then?" Sherlock seemed interested. It would do him a lot of good to start a new case again.

"They asked for a doctor."

"A doctor?"

"Yes. And even when a doctor was called, even when one of the victims was a famous and successful doctor, the attackers were somehow not happy with this, shot everyone they could get to, and then killed themselves. Then they say the black smoke appeared, then vanished just as quickly."

"Easy. Some sort of mind-altering drugs. The single or multiple killers created a drug, or the black smoke, to influence a victim. This victim, under the influence, would appear to have tinted eyes, and would kill, as the scene would suggest. I don't yet know what the motive is, when was the most recent murder?"

John checked his watch, furrowing his brow. "About three hours ago."

At that, Sherlock shrugged on his coat, spinning towards the door. "Come on, John! If it took you any longer to put on your shoes, he'll have killed five more times!"

The crime scene, an old antique shop, was taped off, with Anderson guarding the tape. Anderson wearily massaged his brow. "Oh god, I'd thought we'd gotten rid of you."

"Anderson, shut up, I didn't come here to listen to garbage spew out of your mouth." Sherlock pushed him aside and ducked under the tape, followed by John. "Lestrade. Is there a witness?"

Lestrade rushed over, out of breath, a concerned look on his face. "Yes. Two."

"Okay, good. Bring them to me."

"Sherlock, they've just witnessed thirteen people being brutally murdered. They're in shock, I don't think-"

"Give them blankets and bring them to me."

"Christ." Lestrade exhaled heavily, rolled his eyes, and rushed off to find some shock blankets for the witnesses.

Lestrade brought them into a small room in the back of the store, where two people, in obvious shock, sat in weathered wooden chairs.

They were a male and a female, a boy in his early teens, and a woman who looked to be in her early thirties. Sherlock beckoned to the woman to sit up.

She had short brown hair, pixie style, and was wearing a white dress with a brown belt, soaked and spattered with ruby-colored blood. She wore an expensive-looking ring on her left hand. Her doe-brown eyes darted nervously around the room, leaking tears at a record pace.

"You. What's your name?" Sherlock leaned forward. John shifted from left to right in the corner, his expression worried, as usual. "The killer is dead, don't worry, alright?"

"My name is-" she hiccupped. "My name is Bea."

"Bea. Can you tell me what happened here? And quickly if you will."

Bea's face crumpled, and she leaned her head in her hands. John sprung forward, comforting her, shushing her and telling her that it would be okay.

"My fiancé was here with me," she whimpered. "We were buying the bed frame for our new bed." She broke down into lung-crushing, soul-battering sobs. The boy, meanwhile, had not moved an inch, a comatose expression lingering on his pale, gaunt face. Sherlock's head titled curiously towards this boy, studying him, his attention diverted from his first subject.

"Bea, can you tell us any more? It's perfectly fine if you just want some rest." John cooed this quietly into the woman's ear. She still shook with trepidation, yet clearly John was calming her. She wrung her hands nervously as she took another shaky breath to continue, saying quietly and fast, as though she wanted all the memory of the terrible event out of her.

"We were looking at the sales, and very suddenly, it darkened outside. The lights were flickering, but I was sure that was just the storm," Sherlock broke his attention from the boy for a moment to check something on his phone as the woman continued, "and then... the smoke. It was everywhere. It was dark, and thick, and oily like tar. It was almos- almost… alive looking." Sherlock's eyebrows raised slightly this comment. "And then... the shopkeeper... he screamed and panicked, and suddenly... his eyes were black. I swear to God they were black. And then he took out the gun, and then he kept screaming, 'Doctor! Doctor! Doctor! Docto-" The woman's strangled voice broke off as she buried her face back in her hands, covered in dried blood droplets. John immediately comforted her, squeezing her shoulder gently, whispering in her ear again. Sherlock stood, staring down at the woman, clearly about to say something unbearably rude when the boy spoke.

"Everyone was screaming." Sherlock swiveled towards the boy. "No one knew where a doctor was. Then he shot. He shot again, and again, and again."

The woman grabbed John's coat aggressively, bunching up the fabric in her fist. "You know my fiancé pushed me under the bed? He's the only reason I'm here. He let me go first, he protected me. Then he fell, and there was so much blood." Bea broke down in sobs again, crying onto John's shoulder. Sherlock's eyes rolled slightly as John awkwardly comforted her, eliciting a slight smirk from the boy.

"And what's your name?" Sherlock stared intently at the boy, whose blonde hair was almost artfully splattered with crimson blood.

"Arthur," the boy replied almost snidely.

"Did you see anything else, Arthur?"

"No. Just what she saw. Pretty much, exactly the same." Sherlock regarded the boy again, and narrowed his eyes.

"I don't believe that for a second." Sherlock kneeled down, now eye level to the boy.

"Sherlock-" John started, but Sherlock simply put up a finger to halt him.

"What did you see?"

The boy sneered at Sherlock, replying scornfully, "Why should I tell you? You're not a bobby. You're just some lame, half-ass fake detective too lazy to find a real job." John sighed deeply, and Sherlock looked over the boy once, straightening, before continuing,

"Cheaply sewn, sweatshop value clothes from a super store name, based on the flamboyantly cheap material. Overused, hand-me-down sneakers with multiple repairs. Cleaned multiple times with a wet... sponge? You're attempting to show off to your social circle as clearly further upper class than you are, and basing off your self done haircut, posture, and little to no respect for elder authority, which your comment on 'bobbies' reinforces, you've been betrayed by your family multiple times, don't trust them, and maybe even never knew them. Noticing the Child Support worker in the corner," Sherlock gestured to the corner of the room, where a plain, sweaty looking man sat. "You're a foster child." John sighed one last time as Sherlock finished his brutal assessment of the near child, as Sherlock straightened his jacket. Bea looked on in shock, as the boy swallowed loudly.

"Your expression when I pointed out that chap over there," Sherlock continued, indicating again to the CSA, now clearly annoyed that someone was berating his ward, "clearly shows that you dislike him. Your face, this whole time, even when this woman was crying, was almost... devoid, forced, your zygotic major and orbicularis oculi muscles were obviously being strained. You didn't react at all to the crying, or the sniffling, even when she nearly hit you in the face. Like you were suppressing something. The only time you even seemed to show-" Sherlock scoffed. "Any emotion was when I... rolled my eyes. You twitched your lips about eighty degrees upwards to the right, but then continued to suppress the smile- the smile- you were smiling the whole time, weren't you?"

"Sherlock, this is getting a bit-" John muttered.

The CSA agent tapped Sherlock's shoulder gently. Sherlock stayed staring at the boy, who seemed frightened at this point.

"Sorry, mate, can you please step away from the child? You seem to be scaring him a little." Sherlock whipped around, turning on the small man, towering over him. The balding agent whimpered slightly as Sherlock glared at him.

"Sherlock, let's go..." John hesitantly stood, the woman releasing him finally. Sherlock turned back on the child once more, staring into his eyes.

"Why would you be smiling...?" He trailed off as he stared at the boy, who was now tearing up.

"The man is scaring me Mr. Morrison!" The boy cried, burying his face in his knees, drawing the attention of the relatively quiet room all to Sherlock. The agent cleared his throat, gesturing for Sherlock to leave as he moved to comfort the boy, awkwardly patting the boy's shoulder.

"Maybe, you should go for now, John. Take... take him with you." Lestrade quietly murmured to John.

"Freak." Sergeant Donovan coughed under her breath, nudging Anderson slightly as Sherlock was ushered past them by Dr. Watson.

"Dammit Sherlock, I told you to calm down." John tried to hiss as calmly as possible under his breath as him and Sherlock nonchalantly made their way towards the door.

"That boy... something was very strange about him."

John stopped, and looked at Sherlock with disbelief. "Sherlock, he did just go through a terrible traumatic experience involving around nine deaths." Sherlock rolled his eyes, pulling his coat collar over his neck.

"Yes, yes, John, I obviously knew that. I'm not an idiot." John scoffed, and hurried out the door.

Sherlock turned, one last time, to the boy. The support worker was gesturing wildly in Sherlock's direction, clearly annoyed, as Lestrade tried to calm down the very red man. As Sherlock's eyes locked with Arthur's, the boy smiled.

His eyes were oily, dark, like tar, alive, and black. Completely, entirely, black.


	4. Chapter 4

Chapter 4

Dean wiped the sweat off of his forehead with an army-green sleeve as the car stopped outside the airport, his eyes flicking around in his head slightly as he observed the tall, elegant steel building, that reflected the sunlight in dazzling sparkles, in front of him. It freaking terrified him.

"Dean, calm down." Sam laughed, opening the door.

"I'm not gonna calm down, Sammy, you know how much I hate flying!" Dean pouted.

Sam raised his eyebrows and shook his head, struggling with arms full of luggage as he walked into the terminal.

The tiny corridor separating building from machine, or, for Dean, safety from terror, was made of tacky red plastic, constantly being battered by the wind, and noise inside sounded vaguely muffled and canned. Dean felt a sudden unseen pressure on the back of his neck, the feeling of being watched.

"Hello, Dean." Dean closed his eyes at the sound of a gruff voice.

"Cas," he growled, "did you even buy a ticket?"

Castiel tilted his head slightly, squinted his eyes. "No. But I'm sure there will be seats available."

As it turned out, Cas was right- there were three or four unoccupied seats on the plane, as not a lot of people desired to fly to cold, smoggy England in the beautiful American summer. Sam arranged for an old lady to switch out her seat, so Cas could sit in between Sam and Dean, instead of all the way in the back. Dean sighed uneasily as he settled into his seat.

Cas, grim-faced, seemed bored at the shakiness of the turbulence, but took a sleeping pill along with Dean. Sam settled down with a book, and Dean gritted his teeth and gripped the armrest, grabbing occasionally at Castiel's sleeve to steady himself when the ride was especially bumpy. Even when they were up in the air, and the plane flew smoothly, Dean did not relax. He watched the movie they were playing, some old romantic sap, but he wasn't interested, or paying any attention. He stared straight ahead, his eyes fixed in terror at the screen.

Sam dozed off, feeling relaxation spread through his mind. The movie long finished, the plane hummed softly, the gentle noise accentuated by the soft whispers of the other passengers. He slept dreamlessly, deeply. Suddenly, there was a sharp jab in his shoulder. His splendor interrupted, he jolted up, ready to face whatever came at him. It was a young woman, with thick black hair. "My daughter is trying to sleep," she whispered, in a thick British accent. "I apologize, sir, but you are snoring like a moose."

"Oh! Oh, I'm sorry." Sam straightened up, still sleepy. "Sorry." He yawned. He turned. "Castiel, how long have I- Oh." He grinned.

Castiel's coat was draped over himself. His brow was furrowed, his expression concerned even in sleep. One arm was hidden beneath the coat, his fingertips grazing his lips, and the other clung to Dean's shirt. Cas's face was nuzzled in the crook of Dean's neck. Dean seemed unaware of the angel, also sleeping, finally at rest. I guess the pills took a late start, Sam mused.

Sam stared at the two for about ten seconds, unsure of what to make of it. Finally, the little brother in him set in and he slowly drew out his phone from his front pocket. He snapped a picture, slid it back in his jeans pocket, and curled back up in his own seat.

They were able to get a room at a hotel in London, with two beds and a pullout couch-bed for Cas. The room also had a large television, a mini-fridge, and a balcony looking out to the city.

Dean flopped down on his bed, stretching his arms out. "Man, it's good to be back on the ground again, huh?"

"Technically speaking, Dean, we are on the sixth floor. We are still above the ground."

"Oh, shut up, Cas." He turned around, but Cas had already gone.

"It's getting late, I should probably start researching this thing before morning. Feel free to join, Dean." Sam crossed his legs and opened his laptop. "Mass murders, 'London', recent," he searched.

The first result read The Doctrine Drug, on a blog by someone named Dr. John H. Watson, posted two hours prior. It read:

Sherlock and I have recently become involved in the investigation of the serial killings in which victims report the murderer to have black-tinted eyes, and scream out the word "Doctor" before killing. We're not yet sure what this means, but knowing Sherlock, we can crack it. Sherlock has already concluded that it's most likely a form of a gaseous drug spread through air vents. The screaming for a "doctor" is most likely caused by a human response is to find help in others, and in this case, this help appears to be a medical doctor, which makes sense if the drug, as Sherlock seems to think, brings pain to the victim. What we do not know, however, is why every single case involves the victim specifically yelling, "Doctor." It would seem more likely that there would be at least some variation in what people wanted to help them. Tomorrow, we are visiting the Rose Memorial Hospital Morgue to examine two of the killers' bodies. More to come of our conclusions.

"Dean, take a look at this. Definitely demon signs. Cas was right." Sam let Dean read the article, and he got up to get a drink. "Who are these guys? Sherlock and Dr. Watson."

"Sherlock. Huh. The English do have a knack for names," Dean scoffed. He scrolled through more blog entries. "The Blind Banker, A Study in Pink, The Aluminium Crutch. The Hounds of Baskerville. A giant dog? Really? What the Hell?" Dean paused for a minute, staring at the screen. "Are they hunters?"

"I don't think so. See, there- look, it says that Sherlock Holmes is something called a consulting detective. I guess Watson is his assistant. They're roommates." Dean wiggled his eyebrows slightly. Sam pointed to the bio, which had a picture of a slightly tired looking man who looked to be in his late-thirties. "Well, looks like we're headed to the morgue tomorrow. How's your accent?"

"Ello, guvna!" Dean grinned.

"Oh, god, don't do that-"

"Fish and Chips! A cuppa! How's that?"

"Dean... just... work on it."

* * *

THANK YOU GUYS SO MUCH FOR THE REsPONSE We'VE BEEN GETTING!

It's so amazing and we love it. 3

Keep it up (review, favorite and follow!) and we'll fangirl about it forever!

(tildes)


	5. Chapter 5

Chapter 5

Sherlock stepped briskly out onto the sidewalk, walking immediately towards the crisp, white building of Rose Memorial Hospital Morgue, not waiting at all while John hastily paid the cab driver. The sky was tumultuous and cloudy, which, though not unusual in London, Did seem to make walking into a morgue a fair amount more gloomy than it already was, John thought. Even though he was well acquainted with death, after all, we was a doctor in Afghanistan, John still was downright creeped out by morgues.

"Sherlock! Wait!" John messily fell out of the cab, dropping the folders Molly gave them containing information on the corpses.

Sherlock rolled his eyes. "Oh, God John, please, do keep up."

John grumbled, snatching up the papers from the asphalt.

"It'd be a lot easier if you'd stop running," he hissed under his breath.

Sherlock glided into the air-conditioned, off-white entrance room of the morgue, making his way towards the desk. Tacky, plastic, obnoxiously bright chairs lined the walls, repelling him. He tapped his fingers impatiently as he waited for the attendant to appear. She smiled warmly at him, sitting down slowly as she took a sip of her tea.

"Can you move any slower?" Sherlock murmured under his breath.

"Excuse me?"

Sherlock falsely pulled his lips back into what seemed to be more of a grimace than a smile. "Oh, nothing. Now, please, me and my associate-" Sherlock twirled around once, looking for John. The woman looked at him expectantly. "Well, actually he appears to be running late. Just me then, I suppose. I need to see the bodies from the mass murder incidents."

The woman scoffed lightly, clearly perturbed by Sherlock's presence at this point.

"We don't let just anyone in to see bodies, you know."

"Oh, well obviously. I'm not an idiot. My papers are with my partner. We're on police business." The woman stared at Sherlock, unmoving.

"And where is your... partner? I don't see him here?" Sherlock indignantly sighed. He resumed tapping his fingers on the linoleum table top, glaring at the woman.

"Will you please just stop being difficult and allow me in? I have much more important business here than dealing with narrow-minded, all day desk workers who take their afternoon tea with a shot of English whiskey, such as yourself." Sherlock said this with little emotion, more as facts then as insult. The woman gasped, standing up, her mouth curved in a thin line and herself slightly tearing. Sherlock backed up slightly, frowning.

"You pompous-"

"Please! Please! I have all the papers. Right here. Don't- don't make a scene." John stammered, sliding into the waiting room. He panickedly pushed the papers onto the desk, in front of the woman, nearly running her hands off the counter. She sucked in a deep breath, and pursed her lips, glancing down at the paperwork.

"I'm glad you finally made it." Sherlock snidely remarked to John as the woman suspiciously regarded their documents.

"I was gone for something of two minutes, Sherlock." John smiled uneasily at her, straightening his jacket.

"Two minutes that we could have used making our way to investigate important evidence in the case of a possible serial murderer."

"Or you could have waited for me and maybe helped me pick up your papers." John huffed, crossing his arms, clearly not wanting to talk about the subject any further. Sherlock looked down at the shorter man, a ghost of a grin on his lips. It amused Sherlock to no end when John got like this. It was even maybe a little cute.

"Fine. Go up. But half-an hour is the cap on visitors with no official police escorts. And sign in first!" Said the attendant, red-faced.

John smiled graciously at her. "Oh, thank you so much. Thank you."

Sherlock regarded the woman again. "I mean, it is her job, John. No need to thank her that much." Sherlock said flippantly. The woman grimaced at Sherlock, lowering herself into her chair again.

"Well, then, we'll just be going. So, sorry about all of that." John grinned sheepishly. He grabbed the papers off the desk, and in one fluid movement, also took Sherlock by the sleeve and dragged him off towards the elevators.

"What did I say?" Sherlock whispered.

"Oh, and, sir? You may have to coordinate something with the boys already up there." Sherlock stopped abruptly, breaking free from John's warm hand and spinning back on the woman.

"What boys?" Sherlock quickly leaned towards the receptionist, getting so close he nearly breathed on her.

"Um- just some Scotland Yard folks. The usual. Investigating."

"But Lestrade would have told us if the Yard was here- What did they look like? What was their ranking? How tall were they? Eye color? What clothes were they wearing? Did they provide ID?"

"Ah- who's, Lestrade?" The woman asked, turning to John.

"Sherlock, we can just go up there, and ask them. Ourselves." John gestured toward the lifts again.

"I can show you what they signed in as-" The woman turned the sheet towards the two men. They both leaned forwards in apprehension.

"Agent Plant, Agent Bonham-"

"And Agent Page?" John looks at Sherlock, who was now cheekily grinning, questioningly. Sherlock tapped his fingers one last time on the counter, and tutted once.

"Now this is starting to get more interesting." Sherlock turned neatly towards the lifts, striding off towards them, with more determination. John took one last glance at the sign in sheet, and quickly followed him.

…...

They approached the glass-walled room quietly and quickly. Sherlock first spotted three men. They were hunched over the coroner's table, staring in distaste at the body below them. It was a man's body, with elaborate knife wounds carved into the corpse. One man had light brown hair, with dark green eyes. His body faced the cadaver.

"That's just gross. This has to be one of our first sights in London?" His voice was deep, and almost rusty sounding, if rust did have a sound.

"Oh come on, Dean. We've seen worse." The tallest one spoke now. His voice was higher, kinder, but still weathered.

"Was he possessed?" the third man's voice was crackly and gruff. He wore a tan trench coat and a blue tie.

John turned up to Sherlock, his eyes widening. "They're not even English! They're American!" John whispered, panicked.

Sherlock rolled his eyes just a little. "Yes John, I noticed." Sherlock studied the tallest in the room. He was tall, with hazel-green eyes and floppy hair.

"Sherlock?" John whispered expectantly, tapping Sherlock on the shoulder.

"I have a plan. Follow my lead." Sherlock confidently jaunted into the room, dragging John along besides him.

"Sherlo-" John and Sherlock stopped abruptly in the center of the room.

"Hello, chaps!" Sherlock said brightly.

The three men turned around rapid fire, eyes wide as they stared at the group before them. The tallest opened his mouth, only to close it again. The one called, 'Dean' swallowed a little, biting his lip slightly before answering hesitantly.

"Hello... chaps." Sherlock nearly outwardly cringed at the sound of his terrible English accent.

"What's your business here? I'm the director of the morgue, Mr. Holmes. I just like to know- you know, what bodies I'm picking up. Oh, this is my assistant. Watson." John gave a small twitchy smile.

"Oh, yes, we're here with the uh, Scotland Yard. Yeah." The taller one smiled at the pair. Sherlock did not smile back.

"No, you're not." he snapped.

"What? Whoa, calm down, budd- mate." Dean was losing control on his already spotty accent.

"What are you talking about? We have our badges right here!" The tallest one forced a smile, glancing nervously at his partner, nearly throwing the badges into Sherlock's face.

Sherlock closed his eyes, pushing the badge away calmly. "You three are clearly not police. Starting with your accents. You are obviously, and painfully American, and your attempts to cover this are terrible. I also notice your terrible falsified badges. The printing work is flawed, and messy. The certification? Clearly printed. You."

"It's Dean," he snorted.

"Dean. Your posture clearly shows you have a problem with authority, another marker that you're not Scotland Yard. This also indicates that you have the most power here-" Sherlock gestured vaguely to the three men. "An older brother? Team leader? Either way, you're doing a piss poor job at leading. Your firearm, neatly tucked into your belt on your back," Dean exchanged a wary glance with the other two men. "Oh, yes of course I noticed. I'm not daft. It's not standard issue for the Yard. Your suits are cheap, used multiple times with frayed edges and shoddy stitch work." Sherlock studied the men's faces again, squinting slightly. "Some time over the past year, you have suffered a great deal, not too long ago. A loss, probably causing mental trauma. Then there's the physical trauma on your body as well, your slight hitch in your arm from some sort of very carefully placed laceration on your acromion. Torture, it seems. So you were taken by someone, or something, about... let's say three years ago?"

The taller one stepped in front of Dean, glaring menacingly at Sherlock. "Where the hell are you getting this information from? Have you been following us?" The man with deep blue eyes tilted his head slightly, squinting.

"Sam, he's not a demon."

"A- a what?" John interjected. As usual, he was ignored.

"Sam. Short for Samuel, I presume?" Sherlock asked, a coy smile on his face. Sam swallowed. "Samuel. You have also suffered. You dove into addiction judging by the skin under your eyes and your constant physical habits, making up for the drug. Your hand through the hair, the constantly moving fingers, snapping at themselves. Trust me, I know the signs. Someone or something pulled you out of it, very unlikely voluntarily." Sherlock paused for a moment, contemplative. "What drug could do that to someone with so much mental control and power such as yourself? Yes, I can tell, you have far more control over this situation than, Dean, here thinks you do. In fact, you may be more stable than he." Dean stared again at Sherlock, baffled. "And then there's the loss- or is it losses? You undoubtedly suffered as well, clearly a family member, as you and Dean are related."

"How do you even-" Sam started, but Sherlock plunged ahead.

"Oh, similar bone structure, same mannerisms, same slightly elongated digitus medicinalis. And for our third mystery man! Judging by the protectiveness and- baskets of sexual tension- between Dean," Sherlock smiled sourly at the man, "And Trenchcoat over here-"

"THAT'S ENOUGH." Dean was blushing, his face four or five shades darker than before. The man in the trench coat looked at his shoes. "THERE IS NOTHING, ABSOLUTELY NOTHING, BETWEEN CAS AND ME. God, why does everybody think that?"

Cas looked hurt.

"Come on, are you joking? Do you see the way he looks at you- do you see the way you look at him?"

Dean took a short breath, glancing over at Castiel, whose eyes were already fixed on him.

"Sherlock, we should call security." John started down the hallway.

"I believe this is an appropriate time to leave. We have no interest in causing a scene." Cas said, calmly touching both boys by the shoulders.

"Oh no, you're not going-"

A rush of air hit Sherlock and Watson, and the three men vanished.

John stared, slack jawed, at the space before them. "Weren't they just-"

Sherlock whipped his head around, looking for the boys. His brow furrowed deeply, and possibly, for the first time in his life, Sherlock, truthfully, had no idea what had just happened.

"Here. They were just here. I saw them. We both saw them." John still stood still as Sherlock chaotically searched the room, running around, looking for any possible way the three, full grown men had left the premises without alerting either John or Sherlock. More importantly, alerting Sherlock, who was literally staring at them. Until they were gone.

"Maybe... they left out the window?" John said apprehensively. Sherlock sighed.

"Really? Three grown men, jumping three stories out the window, seems highly unlikely-" Sherlock glanced out the window, only to find said three grown men on the sidewalk, directly under the window. Just casually talking. Sherlock squinted. "They did jump out the window."

"What- I mean, seriously? I was right?" John laughed, pleased with himself. Sherlock gave him a pointed look.

"John, you do have an average intelligence. You can get things right some of the time. Follow them. I need to inspect the bodies. This may be our only chance."

"Not even going to say please?"

Sherlock rolled his eyes. "Just hurry, please." John threw his arms up, and hurried back down the hallway to the lifts.

Sherlock stared at the body on the table after the room had gone silent. He had heard about this one. All the rest of the cadavers had straightforward, gunshot wounds. But this one- this was the most interesting by far. In the autopsy report, it had said that this "John Doe" had post mortem lacerations carved into his torso. With a butter knife, nonetheless. Sherlock grimaced as he put on medical gloves and pried open the roughly cut wounds. There was no residue inside, but the cuts themselves weren't the interesting part of this body- it was the shapes they made.

Molly had been overly excited about this body- continually going on about "Possible occult symbols!" and "Satanic worship!" Now looking at it, Sherlock realized Molly did have reason to be interested- The body was littered with inverted crosses and pentagrams, and other symbols that looked old. Possibly Babylonian old, or at least some ancient, dead language. Behind Sherlock's eyes, the symbols appeared, drifting in his head. He could translate some of them from some light reading on ancient languages he had done in high school, but he needed more resources if he really wanted to understand them Sherlock opened the camera on his phone and quickly snapped photos.

He took a quick glance at the face of the man- he had cold, dead eyes that were glassy. Blood splattered messily on his face, the scarlet color more prevalent on his chalky skin. Sherlock slid off the gloves, trashing them. He looked over the body one last time, and then made for the lift.

It was time to find John.

…...

John had been following the Americans for about two hours. No word from Sherlock, not like that was an unusual occurrence anyways. John had spent this time painstakingly following the men as they lazily trod about London, visiting... well, everywhere. They entered pubs, looked through shops, bought groceries, travelled around markets, perused stupid tourist traps. It almost seemed like it was their main objective to enter as many stores as they possibly could. And frankly, it really annoyed the hell out of John.

John ducked, as nonchalantly as he could, behind a lamppost to watch the group enter a trashy cafe, one that John remembered from going there with Sherlock a long time ago when they first met. Was it on the case with the theatre? He didn't remember.

John bought a newspaper from the shop across the way, and sat down with some rubbish celebrity gossip newspaper, still watching the curtained windows and doors of the coffee shop carefully.

After sitting at a bench across the street from the, what he now saw was so uncreatively called, The French Roaster, for about twenty minutes, John realized something was amiss. They should have left by then- the place really only sold coffee. And pretty shite coffee at that. John smirked, remembering Sherlock sitting in the dingy place, sourly sipping his coffee, and then loudly proclaiming that, " You call this coffee? This tastes more like watered down urine than coffee." Needless to say, they weren't exactly welcomed back.

John crossed the street carefully and slowly, trying not to draw attention to himself too much. John took a deep breath, and then opened the door of the store slowly, peeking in, only to see a reddish, drunk looking fat man and a bored counter attendant.

They were all gone.

John cursed under his breath, running back into the street, and looking for anyway they could have gotten past him. He noticed the dirty, small alley to the side of The French Roaster, with the cafe's service door leading to it.

He squinted slightly, and started down the alley hurriedly. That must be it. The sun, now setting, cast deep shadows everywhere, making it harder and harder to see on the nearly unlit street. Garbage was splayed across John's path, and he angrily kicked it.

"How could I have been so stupid? Dammit, I should have paid more attention. Sherlock is going to be so pissed-"

"That's the least you should be worrying about."

John tripped as the voice broke him out of his train of thought. Rough hands grabbed him by the collar and lifted him up, roughly pushing him against the brick wall of the alley.

John choked slightly as Sam grimaced, shoving his giant fore arm under John's throat. Sam took a knife out from his pocket, and held it against John's neck.

"Please- Ple-" John gasped, struggling to intake air as the huge man nearly lifted him off his feet. Sam drew his face closer to John as he hissed through his teeth,

"Are you a demon? Or a shifter? Why are you following us?"

"I really, don't know what you're talking about. Me- me and my friend, we just wanted to know why you were impersonat-" John grunted as Sam pressed his arm, and the knife, harder against his throat.

"Don't lie to me!" Sam yelled. John's breath was getting shakier by the second, and he was barely keeping his toes on the ground.

"I would prefer it if you didn't yell. Don't want to worry anyone." A voice chided.

"Wha-" Sam spun around, and as he did, Sherlock swung out his arm with a fierce intensity, hitting Sam directly in the face with a tightly closed fist. Sherlock's eyes were angry, a look of disgust on his face. Sam groaned, and collapsed, landing with an echoing "Thud" on pavement. John fell to his knees, grabbing his throat as he took deep, long breaths.

Sherlock grabbed John's shoulders, squeezing them tightly, staring into John's eyes. "Are you okay? Are you okay?"

"Yes... yes... I'm fine." John strangled out in between breaths. Sherlock helped him up, steadying John's uneasy steps with his arm. They looked down at the unconscious, and pretty giant, body before them.

"Well, let's get him back to Baker street."


	6. Chapter 6

Chapter 6

"Goddamn Garth, with his goddamn bag, missing the goddamn machete."

Bobby Singer sat down on his couch, beer in hand. He had had a long, painfully long day, helping Sam and Dean over the phone with some crazy demons in London. Not to mention Garth nearly screwing up a zombie job. And of course, him answering the phone, Federal Bureau Director Robert Lee. Sheriff Mars. Chicago Homicide Unit Director Tom Wilson. He opened his newspaper and sighed. He hardly got any time to relax, and he was glad, that even for these brief minutes he had before someone else undoubtedly called him up with their own shitty problems, to relax and read about what was happening in the normal world.

Vworp, vworp.

Bobby sat up straight, stiffened. "What..." He turned around.

Vworp, vworp. "...the Hell?!"

And, inexplicably, there it was. A blue box, vaguely familiar, appearing out of thin air, appeared right in his living room. Bobby stared at it, dropping both his beer and his jaw. It got worse- that's when a man walked out of the box. And an Englishman. He looked to be about in his mid-twenties, wearing a tweed jacket, a salmon button-down, red suspenders and bow-tie, and a mop of hair almost as floppy as Sam's. Following him was a tall girl with long, wavy red hair, and a man with dirty blonde hair and a colossal nose.

"Hello!" said the first man cheerily. "Sorry we didn't call first, but it's sort of an emergency. I'm the Doctor, and this is Amy and Rory, we-whoa there!"

Bobby, being Bobby Singer, was holding up his shotgun. Rory squeaked. Bobby narrowed his eyes at the three before him, growling aggressively, "What are you? Demons? Angels? Nothing else can move that fast. And don't try to lie to me, I will shoot and ask questions later."

"Bobby, Robert Singer, I want you to put the gun down. We are not here to hurt anyone. I am a Timelord, the last of my kind. Being a very experienced demon hunter, you must have heard of us."

Bobby nearly dropped his gun too. The kids were spouting gibberish. "Timelords? The aliens? No, no... that's impossible. That's just a buncha myths that internet crazy kids obsess over- nothing-" Bobby's hands shook as he tightened his grip on the gun, cocking it. But the Box... it was exactly the same as described when he came across that freakin' 'Who is Doctor Who?' website when trying to investigate the kidnapping in New Mexico a year back. The Doctor kept his hands up, never breaking eye contact with Bobby. Amy and Rory flailed in the background, Rory half heartedly attempting to conquer his own fear and protect Amy, and Amy trying to get past the Doctor to help.

"Believe it, or not. But I know about what's been happening in London, with the Demon attacks. The alien bit doesn't really matter, as long as you trust us enough to provide some information. They are after me, Bobby. I think you can help me, and we can help you."

"The demon attacks, huh?" Bobby licked his lips. "Fi-fine. Come here, tell me." He gestured towards a comfortable looking couch in the center of the room.

The Doctor and his friends piled onto the couch. Rory intertwined his fingers with Amy's, but she pulled away. Rory frowned dejectedly, and lowered his head. Amy looked up at the ceiling in exasperation, only to notice a large pentagram enclosing the couch. She pulled on the Doctor's sleeve, and pointed up.

"Doctor, what's that?" she asked, glancing momentarily back at Rory, who was still sulking in the corner of the chair.

"Devil's trap. It keeps in demons so they can't escape, and so you can torture and exercise them." The Doctor looked up at Bobby. "But we aren't demons, Bobby. Like I said," he stood up, walked out of the circle. "Not demons. Timelord."

"Yeah. I heard you the first time." Bobby warily looked at the three on the couch. An awkward moment passed at they stared at eachother like this, untrusting.

Then Bobby reached for a canteen on the coffee table, unscrewed it, and splashed it in their faces.

"What the hell was that?!" Amy cried, jumping up.

"Amy- dear, just calm down-" Rory reached for her hand once again, and again failed.

"You got it on my new boots! This is Brazilian leather from Steve Madden's Fall Collection! And brand, bloody new!" the redhead raged, fuming. She slowly sat back down as her husband tried to soothe her, grumbling.

"Like I give a rat's ass about some fancy-shmancy boots." Bobby scoffed, unscrewing a flask of whiskey and taking a quick sip. "That was Holy water. Burns demons."

"Oh, my- WE AREN'T DEMONS! OH MY GOD!" Rory had finally reached his boiling point.

Bobby cleared his throat. "As you were saying," he grunted in a gruff drawl. "The London attacks. My boys are workin' on that case right now. Heard a Sam and Dean Winchester?"

"Oh, the Winchesters! Lovely bunch!" The Doctor paused. "Hated by just about everyone, though. Never personally met them, but the angels-" he grinned. "Oh ho ho, do the angels hate them!" The Doctor exchanged a conspiratorial glance with Amy, who just stared at him in confusion. "Oh, you know, sometimes I like to listen in, to 'Angel Radio'. After I found out about the Angels, anyway. They're quite a puzzling species-"

"Who're the Winchesters?" Rory asked. He nudged Amy.

"Who're the Winchesters?" Amy whispered, in turn, in the Doctor's ear.

The Time Lord turned towards the baffled couple. "From the little I've heard, they're also demon hunters, like Bobby over here. Hunters that hunt the nasty things that hide in closets at night," The Doctor turned to Amy, a reassuring look on his face, "Of course, not the same nasty things we take care of. More... er, supernatural, beasties. Sam and Dean got involved with the apocalypse, bad things happened. Well, the Earth apocalypse, anyhow. It was not a good time for everybody."

Rory's eyes widened. "The apocalypse? What-"

"Oh, they made a few mistakes, cut them some slack. They're good boys." Bobby cut off Rory, rolling his eyes. When he noticed that Rory and Amy were still trying to struggle with the idea of the apocalypse occurring under their own noses, Bobby decided it was best not to get into it too in depth. Bobby cleared his throat. "Sam, Dean and their angel friend Castiel are in London, as we speak, figurin' that case out right now. You have any idea what's goin' on? And why'd ya come to me, anyways?"

"We came to you because you're the best hunter in the book. In my book, at least, which, to be honest, is a little limited." The Doctor twiddled with a bit of paper on a side table while he said this, clearly not aware of the offensive undertone. Bobby grunted in annoyance at this, which made Rory freeze up a bit. Sure, the guy was old, but he looked like he could take out all three of them if he put his mind to it, and the shotgun laid haphazardly on the table wasn't helping.

And of course, his mind itself was a whole other thing. Amy had noticed immediately when they had exited the sheer amount of books in his office- many in different languages, Greek, Hebrew, Chinese, even Latin.

"And we thought that maybe you could help us with this. The reason why the Demons are attacking is because they're looking for... me. They want to capture my soul so they can bring it to Hell, and rise up." The Doctor looked a little sheepish.

"Oh, Hell, not another bloody uprising. These sons of bitches just do not know when to quit." Bobby ran his hand through his thinning hair. Bobby stopped, and took two steps towards the group in his living room.

The group took two steps back.

"I guess, if they did want a soul, it would be the soul of one of the oldest and most powerful non-celestial being in the Universe, then- of course, that's if you're really telling the truth about this crazy alien business." Bobby chuckled to himself, as the Ponds stared on in confusion. Bobby looked at them, and the Doctor, expectantly, but eventually just sighed and rolled his eyes. "Well, you should probably talk to the boys about it," he said. "'When Sam last called me, they were still tryna figure out what was going on."

"Back to London, Ponds," concluded the Doctor, standing up and offering Amy a hand. "Goodbye, Bobby. We'll be in touch. Maybe. Well, it's a possibility. Tood-a-loo!" She took it, and the three travelers piled aboard the TARDIS.

"Comin' and goin' so quickly? And what the Hell am I supposed to do with that information, anyways? Idjits." Bobby acknowledged his phone sitting on the end table near his couch, and stared at it for a moment. "Goddamn international calls cost too much anyhow." Bobby muttered. He looked around, a little unsure of what to do with himself. Bobby sighed again, picking up his spilt beer, and slowly sitting himself back down to watch read the paper.

Somewhere between zipping from Sioux Falls, South Dakota to somewhere in England, all while trying to keep the life of an ancient alien intact and saving the world (hypothetically), Amy got a moment to think to herself, letting the familiar and comforting hum of the TARDIS lead her into a strange state of self-awareness.

It wasn't that Amy didn't love her husband. She did, she loved him with all of her heart. He waited his whole life, and then two thousand years for her, and she would gladly do the same for him. Roricus Pondicus, Rory the Roman, the light of her life.

But there was... a thing.

The night before her wedding, when her tall, handsome, silly imaginary-friend-turned-real stole her away, and brought her to adventure, to a basic paradise, one of the many small veins stitching Rory's heart to hers burst, and reached towards the two ancient hearts of the Doctor.

And that was all it took for guilt to overtake Amy. An almost-married woman shouldn't feel this way about another man, or alien, for that matter, it wasn't right! But she suddenly found Rory needy, clingy, dopey, pitiful even.

Her fancy for the Doctor eventually faded, for the most part. She was Rory's again, filled with love and devotion. But a small part of her still turned towards the Doctor. He was her first love even as a child, and, as they say, first loves never fade.

But that doesn't mean a new one can't come along.

Amy studied the Doctor from across the TARDIS, herself slumped in a childish fashion on a cold, metal bench in the control room. The Doctor was making himself busy, fiddling around with a wide assortment of random switches and little red buttons, all the time muttering to himself.

Amy carefully lifted herself up from the bench, making her way slowly, and silently towards the man. She ran her eyes across his shoulders, in his silly old-fashioned coat, and his amazing hair, that always seemed to just be perfectly messy, but neat at the same moment.

"Doctor?" Amy said, softly. She didn't really know what she was doing or what she was going to say, so she might as well attempt to do it softly. The Doctor quickly reared his head towards her, smiling as he did.

"Oh, hello, Pond! I didn't hear you there. Well, I did hear you there now, but... before... I..." The Doctor studied Amy's face, his grey-green eyes flitting around. "Is there something wrong, Amy?"

Amy swallowed slightly, her eyes still trained on the Doctor's. Her hand twitched, almost involuntarily, towards his own, but she tried to control herself.

"No... nothing- wrong." She took a step towards him, and the Doctor stepped back, eyeing her warily.

"Amelia, what's the matter?" He cocked his head slightly, his eyes still trained on hers with a fierce intensity. For a moment, she felt like she could actually have done something about that.

"So! What's happening now!" Amy jumped back as she heard Rory's voice emerge, the man himself strolling lazily out from one of the multiple hallways in the TARDIS, while drying off his spiky light-brown hair with a fluffy white towel.

"Oh, nothing." The Doctor turned around, shakily, as he resumed his fiddling, his face slightly flushed. Amy turned towards Rory, giving him a little smile as she walked to him, wrapping her arms around him. "Just trying to latch onto any supernatural signatures that we can find so we can pinpoint the Winchesters exact location! Old London Town is a big place, you know. That they're with an angel makes it much easier. It's all waves and frequencies, you know-"

Amy rolled her eyes as she smiled at the Doctor. "And you never thought to do this before? You usually just land us really wherever is most convenient. Or, really, just wherever."

The Doctor turned towards Amy, his lips raised in a half-smirk.

"Well this time, we're shooting to impress! The Winchesters are big items!"

"Then how come I've never heard of them?" Rory stepped forwards with Amy, a slightly anxious look on his face, as always.

"Well, they like to stay under the radar." The Doctor turned away from the group, locking his gaze on a blinking monitor on the other side of the control panel. His face erupted in a huge grin, and he faced speedily towards the Ponds. "And there they are! Time to pay a visit, yes?"

* * *

A/N:

Sorry for the long update gap guys! Schedules conflicted, internet was missed, hearts were broken, but we're back on schedule now! Expect _as_ frequent updates as before! As always, favorite and follow, but especially review. It makes us all tingly and fabulous feeling. Already, we're really thankful for all the responses and we would love it if you guys stuck around!

3, sad-sea-song and 33


	7. Chapter 7

Chapter 7

Sam groaned softly as his eyes fluttered open, the light from the room boring into them. Everything was spinning, making it hard to concentrate on one thing, but Sam had the general idea of where he was.

In a really, really messy apartment.

The couches in front of him were dusty, and had sad little pillows on them. The desk, which was mostly stacked newspaper at this point, haphazardly balanced two coffee mugs and vials, with thick books placed in between in what little place there was left for anything to fit. The walls were layered in musty Victorian-looking wallpaper, and on one wall, a yellow, messy smiley face was lazily drawn on in spraypaint. Surrounding the face were dozens of bullet holes.

"Ah, finally, you're awake." Sam reared his head to see the strange man with the high cheekbones staring at him from the doorway to the hall. Sam struggled silently with his bonds, cursing under his breath as they tore into his skin. Handcuffs. And boy, did they hurt. "Don't think you're going to slither away this time." The man cautiously circled Sam, as Sam struggled again. He was getting too close for comfort.

"Who are you? What do you want?" Sam growled at him.

"Oh, no. I ask the questions. After all, I'm not the one chained up in a stranger's sitting room." The man sat down elegantly on the dusty couch in front of sam, crossing his legs professionally.

"So, our first question, is, why were you imitating the Scotland Yard?" The shorter man appeared from the doorway as well, staring with disgust at Sam. The man's hands were wrapped gingerly around his throat, which was clearly bruised. The first interrogator looked at the shorter man in concern, making a move to go to him, but the man shook his head.

"Are you sure you're all right, John?"

"Yes, yes, I'm fine, Sherlock. Just... interrogate the poor man." Somewhere in Sam's brain, those names hit recognition, but he couldn't place them.

"Well, then, answer his question, Samuel." Sherlock looked expectantly at the bigger man, who sighed.

"We- me and my friends, were just... curious. We wanted to know more about the murders. We're just visiting, and read about them in the paper. It seemed like a cool thing to do." Sam shrugged.

Sherlock leaned towards Sam, steepling his hands under his nose. "Unlikely. Why would a couple of bored tourists go through all the trouble of making fake Scotland Yard badges just to get a couple kicks?" Sam smiled slightly at the Sherlock, who reciprocated his grin.

"Well, we're really, really, really, interested tourists." Sam delivered his lies with no emotion, simply staring at Sherlock. They both knew it was a lie. It was Sam's way of telling Sherlock that he wasn't going to crack him that easily.

"But really, Agents Page, Plant and Bonham? Don't you think that draws quite a lot of attention to yourselves?"

Sam nodded slightly, but shrugged again."It's a tradition."

Sherlock stood up, approaching the man again. "So you've done this before? Interfered in police business?"

"Maybe. What do you care?" Sam twisted his wrist again, hissing a little as the cuffs dug again into his raw skin.

"I care to know why the first thing an American, seemingly not involved at all in the serial murder case, does in London, is break into a morgue and investigate said serial murder case." Sherlock raised one of his eyebrows slightly.

"We've been here for weeks. We're here for a wedding." Sam told his lies again, staring at the wall behind Sherlock. He knew that he should at least try to stick to the story Dean, Cas and him made for themselves. Even if it was totally discredited at this point.

"Oh, not likely. We walked in on your little conversation in the morgue- you probably arrived yesterday on the Delta flight 146, yes?"

Sam turned his attention to the man, flabbergasted. "How did you-"

"That little question of yours is becoming tiresome. Clearly, that was the only flight that would coincide with the splash marks from rain on your leather boots." Sam glanced down at his shoes, seeing that the rain from yesterday still permeated their surface, darkening some areas.

"Sherlock, did you get any sugar?" John poked his head in again as Sam struggled to remember where he had heard that unusual name before. Sherlock. Sherlock. Sherloc-

"No." Sherlock studied Sam's face intently.

"Oh, well of course-"

"Sherlock! Sherlock Holmes!"

Sherlock's head snapped up, staring with intensity at Sam. "How do you know my name?"

"Your blog. I read it. The cases. You're also investigating the serial murders: The Doctrine Drug." Sam smiled, a little proud.

"Oh, God. Look what your idiotic blog has gotten us into now, John." John Watson appeared from the kitchen again, frowning.

"Sherlock, the blog is not stupid. It gets us cases. It gets us business! People like the blog." Sherlock sighed deeply, and collapsed onto the couch, sprawling himself across it.

"Yes, yes, 'people like the blog.' But now, our subject here knows both of our names and knows what we do!" John rolled his eyes and stepped towards Sherlock.

"I don't see why you can't just accept this as- as a thing I do, Sherlock! It's more helpful to everyone this way!"

"Not more helpful to me. I like to be incognito." Sherlock grumbled, turning his back away from Sam and John. John sighed again, a more deep, annoyed noise than previously.

"You're just going to turn around and ignore me like a baby? I see. Mature, Sherlock."

"Well, are you just going to sigh at everything I say? It doesn't help anyone, and is, frankly, quite bothersome. There's no point in disagreeing with me, all of my arguments will make more logical sense than anything you could say."

"Oh, come off it, Sherlo-"

"Um, are you two, um, toge-"

"No!" The two men both snapped at their captive, flushing and turning away from each other. John sighed one more time, then stomped out of the room.

"Sorry." Sam said quietly, sucking in his breath. Sherlock regarded his prisoner again, his face a little red.

"Next. Where are your two accomplices?" Sherlock cocked his head slightly, continuing to stare at Sam. "Do they know where you are? Should we be expecting them soon?" Sam swallowed. He knew that Dean and Cas knew that if he didn't call them, something went wrong. They should be looking for him right now.

That's when Sam noticed the small, steely black automatic pistol placed snugly between the back of Sherlock's belt and shirt, and remembered the bullet holes in the wall.

"So... you shoot a lot?" Sam asked, nervously. Sherlock lazily took his gun at it, waving it around in one hand flippantly.

"Oh, yes. Quite a bit. I do need practice, it is my job to catch potentially dangerous criminals." Sam nodded with a little trepidation, still fixed on the hand gun. Sherlock noticed his interest, glancing down at it with surprise. "Oh, don't worry, of course I'm not going to use it on you."

"And why's that?" Sam asked.

"Obvious. You still have information I need. And it's not like I'm going to get it from anyone else." Sherlock sat back across from Sam, bouncing his knee slightly. After clicking the safety, he let the pistol hang from his hand, treating it like a normal person would treat a pencil, flicking it from left to right."You're a vital asset at this moment. No point in shooting you. It would be messy." Sam smiled a little, and Sherlock, in turn, felt a small smirk play on his lips. "So what information do you have? You've told me nothing but shoddy lies, and unfortunately, that may mean I must use more extreme methods soon." Sherlock's smile dropped, leaving a slight pit in Sam's stomach. Sure, Sam had dealt with demons, hell hounds, monster's of all sorts, even Lucifer's Cage, but that didn't mean torture from normal people didn't hurt like hell too.

"You can't. You're not the police. You have no authority over me. The most you could do is get me thrown back to the States." Sam said, a little snarkily.

"Oh, don't underestimate what I can and cannot do when I want something." Sherlock's face darkened slightly, leaving Sam a little more nervous than he already was. When the hell were Dean and Cas going to show?

Sam leaned back, taking a breath.

"You really, really, really, wouldn't believe me if I told you."

"You would be surprised the capacity to which I can accept the impossible." Sam cocked his head slightly, studying Sherlock.

"Well, would you believe that me, my brother and our friend the angel were here to stop demons from taking over the world?" Sherlock grimaced, chuckling.

"That lie is even more preposterous than your others. I'm not a child, Samuel. I don't believe in fairy tales." Sherlock sneered. Sam absentmindedly studied the piles of trash around the room. Little corners filled with wrappers, the old oriental carpet, covered with a thick coating of dust. Even the kitchen table, to his right, was covered in various pieces of seemingly random stuff, from lab equipment to day-old dishes.

"I told you, you wouldn't believe me. You guys should really clean up more around here."

"I would appreciate it, if you didn't ignore me, Sam."

"I told you the truth. It's your problem if you don't believe me." Sam shrugged with his answer, meeting Sherlock's eyes. Sherlock stood, angrily, stepping towards him, his hand with the gun waving towards Sam, as he said,

"Now listen here, I'm done playing games. I want answers, and I want them now, thank yo-"

The loud crack of Sherlock's door being kicked in interrupted his threat. Dean came bounding through, baring his firearm directly at Sherlock's head, followed by Cas, studying their surroundings intently. Sam let his breath out a little as he saw them, for the first time in hours. He really didn't feel like getting deported.

"You might want to get that gun away from my brother, you tea sipping son of a bitch."

* * *

A/N:Faster update! Yeah! As always, it makes us so happy when you guys review, favorite or follow, and we're already so happy with the response we're getting. THANK YOU SO MUCH! We seriously love each and everyone of you. Chapter 8 soon... shit is starting to happen in the story, guys.


	8. Chapter 8

Chapter 8

"Hey, look at this." Rory was cozied up in one of the TARDIS's chairs, Amy peering over his shoulder at his laptop. Amy gestured to the Doctor. "I follow this blog, it's like a detective's log. Sherlock Holmes and John Watson, they've been on the news a couple times. It's very entertaining, man's a flat-out genius."

"And?" Amy rested her chin on Rory's shoulder.

"Well, read the most recent post." He clicked on The Doctrine Drug. The three of them read it silently, exchanging the occasional worried glance.

"Before we start looking for the Winchesters, it might be a good idea to talk to them, figure out the demon's motives. If Holmes and Watson are really that smart, they might be able to help. Where does it say their flat is?"

"221B Baker Street." Amy peered at the small print on the screen, and then turned towards the Doctor, who was already at the TARDIS'S controls, repeating it again so he could hear.

The trio materialized outside on Baker Street, opening the blue TARDIS doors to rows of Victorian-era apartments, with slightly faded-white stone exteriors. Amy looked around, impressed.

"Quite posh."

"Just the place you'd imagine a 'consulting detective' to live, eh?" Rory smiled at Amy, nudging her slightly.

"Oh, I bet he's going to be terribly full of himself." Amy smiled back at him.

The Doctor spun around once, pausing at the end of his revolution. Then he spun around again, glancing every which way.

"Where is this blasted place?!" The Doctor frowned, his brow furrowing. Amy raised her eyebrows at him, and quickly ran up to one of the houses behind them. She squinted at the door, and then turned back to gaze on the other side of the street. Amy pointed to a small black door, nestled snugly between a fence and a dusty cafe.

"I bet it's that one." Amy smirked.

The Doctor looked incredulously at her. "How do you know?"

"House numbers." She smiled proudly at him, and crossed the street with confidence. Rory laughed, grabbing her hand and following her.

"I could have read the house numbers too. If I had thought of it." The Doctor grumbled, begrudgingly following the couple across the street.

Amy glanced back at the Doctor, staring at his scrunched-up face as he dragged his feet behind them. She smiled warmly, letting the happiness she felt when she was with him leak through. He was just too cute. Rory tugged on her hand. "Come on, let's go, Amy."

The group arrived at the door, all stopping awkwardly in front of it. The Doctor knocked hesitantly, and then harder when there was no answer. The trio heard a vague crash from the window upstairs. The Doctor turned to Amy, who shrugged. "Sonic it?" The Doctor whipped out his device, ready to activate it, when Rory turned the knob on the door.

The door swung wide open, revealing a dusty hallway, and creaky-looking wooden stairs. There was more crashing and banging, and people shouting profanities, from up the stairs. The three exchanged glances, and then bounded up the stairs.

The three burst out of the hallway into a scene of extreme tension. An extremely man was tied up and struggling in the corner, and a man in a trenchcoat was helping him escape. A man in a leather jacket pointed a gun at a tall man with piercing blue eyes and curly brown hair, who pointed a gun back. Nearly everyone was shouting, but the men were all muted as heads spun towards the Doctor and his companions.

There was quiet, then something thudded to the floor. A short blonde man in a cable-knit sweater dropped his groceries on the floor, his jaw dropping with them. "...Sherlock?" he squeaked.

"Is this 221B Baker Street?" Amy twirled a lock of her hair.

The men in the room, still staring in, quite frankly, utter shock at the group in the flat.

"Yes, it is, and what the bloody hell are you doing here?" The man with the curly black said, spinning his gun towards the new unwelcomed guests.

Amy, Rory and the Doctor all held their hands up innocently.

"I'm the Doctor! These are Amy and Rory, and we're just looking to talk." The man with the trench coat looked strangely at the Doctor, tilting his head quizzically, like he was trying to see something deeper in the man. In fact, he was noticing that the Doctor wasn't really a "man" at all.

"Oh, well, that's just great, but as you may be able to tell, I'm a little busy." Sherlock spoke again, becoming more agitated by the minute. His trigger finger was itching. The Doctor nervously approached, opening his mouth to speak again, but getting cut off.

"Yeah, go bother someone else, bow tie." The dark-blonde man gruffly spoke, glancing over for a minute to stare at the strange man behind him.

"Bow ties are cool."

Amy and Rory both rolled their eyes. "Doctor-"

"How about everyone just put their guns down, okay?" The smaller man, breaking out of his shock in the doorway, said, trying to calm everyone down, with very little success.

"This is important. It's about the Doctrine Drug- it's not a drug, it's demons, and if you keep going around trying to investigate, you'll get more involved than you want."

"Demons?" The man in the trench coat, the man in the leather jacket, and the tall man in the corner looked up, alarmed.

"You're as nuts as they are." The shorter man said. "Are you all part of some cult? A demon worshipping cult?"

Dean scoffed. "What do you think we are, witches?" Sherlock, John, Amy, and Rory's eyebrows all raised incrementally.

"You all really are mad." Sherlock stated, glancing around in amusement at the bunch.

The man in the trench coat approached the Doctor, still staring at him, his eyes widening as he slowly approached the man. The whole room reacted quickly, Amy and Rory moving towards the Doctor, Sherlock turning his gun on Cas, John stepping back quickly, and Dean reaching towards Cas.

The whole room was quiet again, all staring at each other with watchful eyes.

"Cas, what are you doing?" Cas ignored Dean, completely enthralled in the specimen before him.

"If you take one more step, 'Cas', I will shoot you." Sherlock warned. Dean turned on him, growling.

"Sherlock-" John stared in exasperation at his flatmate.

"Try it, and I'll shoot first." Dean pointed his gun directly in between Sherlock's eyes, grimacing in concentration. This bastard isn't going to hurt Cas. Sherlock raised his eyebrow again, his expression of the day, clearly.

"You think you're a faster draw than me?"

"Would you like to test it out?"

The Doctor, Amy, and Rory, all exchanged nervous glances with each other, realizing maybe they were a bit over their heads in their current situation.

"Now, everyone, really, just calm down for a bit. I don't really like guns, you see-" The Doctor managed to mumble out, but not before Cas had taken another step towards him and Sherlock had cocked his gun for the second time that day.

That's about when all hell broke loose.

Dean ran towards Sherlock, attempting to tackle him into the kitchen. John slid into the room, attempting to help Sherlock, but as he did, a loud shot was heard, unmistakably from one of the multiple guns in the room. The Doctor and Ponds threw themselves onto the couch, to avoid fire. Sam flinched violently, dropping himself onto the floor, and John pressed himself against the wall.

That left Castiel, looking quite confused, as blood slowly seeped through his shirt.

Amy screamed when she saw, scrambling up from the couch to watch the man fall to his knees.

"Shit..." John stared in horror at the stranger before him, the man with the trench coat, who was bleeding more and more.

"Castiel!" Dean yelled, abandoning his mission to assault Sherlock, and running towards Cas. Sam followed close behind, both men kneeling down in front of their friend, worry and fear plastered on their faces. Cas struggled to breathe, his breath shaky and slow. The rest of the group slowly situated themselves around the scene, taking in the gore before them. Even Sherlock slunk out of the kitchen, staring, his mouth a little open, his eyes wide, at the scene on his floor.

"Are you going to be okay?" Sam said, looking at his friend's chest, which now was completely covered in dark, red blood that was quickly spreading.

"I just need to repair my vessel. It will be painful, but doable." Cas grunted as he sat himself upright, leaning against the side of the coach for support.

"Here." Dean offered his hand, which Castiel quickly took, as he closed his eyes and gritted his teeth. Dean's eyes seemed luminescent, staring intently at Cas' face, breathing nearly as heavily as Cas was. Cas clutched Dean's hand tightly, squeezing until his knuckles were white.

"What? Are you insane? We need to call 911! I'll get my medical kit-" John tried to bustle out of the room, but Sherlock stopped him in silence, and turned him around again to face the scene before them.

The trench-coated man on the ground, Castiel, was glowing. Celestial-looking silver light echoed from his eyes, illuminating the room fantastically. He groaned again as the light began to pour from his gunshot wound as well, causing a slight gasp from someone in his small audience.

Suddenly, all the light was gone, and Castiel, stood up, albeit with slight hesitation, with help from Dean, who held hands with him for only a second longer, squeezing Cas' hand before letting go. The bleeding had clearly stopped around the wound, and Cas looked... well, Cas looked fine.

"That was harder than I thought it would be. I think I'm losing some of my power." Cas turned again to the bow-tied man in the room, staring at him intensely with his piercing blue eyes. He took another step towards the man, causing everyone in the room to take one monumental breath in.

"Cas, what is it?" Sam stepped towards his friend.

Cas seemed to smile slightly, and said, slowly but surely,"You aren't from this Earth."

Shocked eyes turned to the quirky man, who smiled awkwardly. "Well, you do do your research, don't you."

"What the hell just happened?" Rory yelled.

Amy had been in tense situations before, not even mentioning life-or-death staring contests with Weeping Angels. I have also been in pretty confusing situations, she thought, I mean, I did walked into an imaginary friend's spaceship that was bigger on the inside.

But she seriously thought her current predicament was an extreme in those fields.

The three distinctly separate groups all sat in anxious readiness, poised to strike or defend or run away at a moment's notice. The Winchesters were standing protectively in the corner, guarding their still extremely bloody, yet seemingly perfectly fine, friend in the trench coat. The strange man had an unbelievably tired look on his face.

Sherlock was sitting in his worn-down leather chair, hands poised on chin, staring at the floor. He, more than anyone, thought Amy, looked very disturbed. I mean, she knew it was to be expected. All other humans in the messy flat were experienced with at least some form of the supernatural- though Amy knew, even she was in the dark on the Winchester's end. What kind of alien was that man with the deep blue eyes, and how had he known the Doctor was one as well?

For the Doctor, Rory and herself, they were still uncomfortably sitting onto the couch they had strewn themselves across, if not more upright than before.

"So…" John started, apprehensive. He had been the first to try to add some kind of organization to the situation. John clearly was dealing with their situation in a different way than Sherlock. For a while, he was trying to simultaneously check if Castiel was alright, calm down Sherlock (which did very little, as Sherlock was barely reacting at all), keep their landlady out of his flat, and try to rationalize the impossible thing that had happened before his very eyes.

"This appears to be an awkward situation." Cas said, observing the groups in front of him. Amy almost laughed, but the blue-eyed man said the words with such sincerity that she was sure it wasn't meant to be a joke, and it didn't help with the awkward air in the room at all.

"No freaking duh, Cas." Dean rolled his eyes, sighing and leaning against a window that was letting dusty light into the room.

The group all stared each other down one more time, and then they all sort of started talking at once.

"What did you mean-"

"How is it possible…"

"The fucking hell did Cas mean by-"

"This is all, really, really, quite confusing…"

They all stopped, holding their tongues.

Another tense look was exchanged, and the Doctor giggled a little, resulting in the throwing of several dirty looks in his direction.

Silence.

"First of all, I think it's all on our minds- What are you?" Amy asked Castiel, staring up at him from her slouch on the couch, directing everyone's glares towards him.

"Well, I am an an-" Dean aggressively thrust his arm in front of his friend, shushing him. He glared at Amy, their eyes meeting.

"No, no. What the hell is he? Cas said he wasn't… from Earth." Sam and him exchanged glances. "Are you like Cas?" The question was clearly addressed at the Doctor now, who just flushed slightly.

"I asked first." Amy pursed her lips, crossing her arms sassily.

"We have the guns here." Dean muttered.

"Oh, do we really want to get back into the 'who has the bigger gun competition' now?" Sherlock spoke, for the first time since he had shot Castiel in the gut.

"Well, we will if we need to." Sam said, a little quietly.

"Yes, well, I agree with…" John Watson looked at Amy expectantly, and curiously. "Well, I don't know your names, nearly any of your names. But you're all in my flat, and sitting on my couches, and… and shooting people in my sitting room!" John seemed overwhelmed.

"Technically, that was your flatshare." The Doctor said, pointedly, which earned him a look of great annoyance from Sherlock.

"Amy. Amy Pond, and this is Rory Pond." Rory gave Amy an exasperated look.

"Actually, Rory Williams, and Amy Williams..." Rory protested. Amy shrugged, uncaring, which just annoyed Rory further.

"And, as you may or may not remember, I'm the Doctor. See, we introduce ourselves. My people are nothing if not polite." The Doctor smiled cheekily, making Amy grin.

"Great, now we all had our little meet and greet." Dean sneered, looking more and more anxious. Cas gave him a worried look, which Dean tried his best to ignore.

"John Watson. Sherlock Holmes." John gestured limply to Sherlock. "Well, then, I agree with Amy. What are you? That shot… it went directly into your spinal cord, it completely cleared it. If you are human," John paused, giving a beat, looking absolutely horrified at the chance of the strange man in his lounge not being human, "You should be dead, completely dead, and if not, at least paralyzed. Or dying of blood loss! I'm a doctor, I know this… I know…" John finally let the sheer im-possibilities of the situations meeting him affect him, and sat down, looking tired.

"Well." Sam and Dean exchanged looks. "Do you think there's any chance that we could just walk out of here, and get out of your hair? You really wouldn't believe anything we said anyway, and we really don't want to give the big truth is out there speech…" Sam asked, quite earnestly in fact, without a hint of sarcasm or facetiousness. Which just further confused both John and Sherlock.

"Like we would need that talk again," Rory rolled his eyes.

"What?" Sam asked, surprised.

"What?" Sherlock and John both said.

"Sam, they clearly are hunters. I mean, they're hanging around with an angel-" Dean started, but froze as the word, that he himself had forbidden Castiel to use, left his mouth, leaving Amy, Rory and the Doctor to stare at Dean in horror, John at him in shock, and leaving Sherlock to only cock his head slightly.

"A- a- a- a what?" John managed to push out of his throat.

"An angel of the Lord." Castiel said happily, his deep voice again overtaking the conversation.

"The Doctor's not a-"

"Are you serious?!" John said, interrupting Rory. He stood up, looking at the Doctor.

"I'm not an angel." The Doctor said darkly. Images of killer, terrifying yet elegant stone monsters danced behind his eyes. Castiel nodded feverishly.

"No, he's not one of us. I would have been able to sense that much sooner. I haven't been away from Heaven that long." John spun his disbelieving gaze upon Castiel now.

"Heaven? You can't be serious-" Sherlock glared at John.

"They are." The chaos yet again hushed. "What you said before… Sam… about the murders and demons… and fighting them… it was all true, wasn't it?" John's eyes, if it was even possible, widened even more.

"Demons… angels… what the hell is this shit?" John exclaimed.

"I was telling the truth." Sam answered Sherlock cautiously.

"He's an angel?" Amy asked the Doctor incredulously. "He doesn't look at all like one! He's not a statue or anything. He… he's a man! And, not killing us! He's just hanging around with humans? Why didn't he eat them!" Amy was now staring in fear at Cas, trying to back away from him while staying on the couch.

The Doctor studied Cas for a while, as everyone struggled to process all the information they were being given.

"I think… I think he means a biblical angel." The Doctor paused, his eyes lighting up. "As in, a Godly angel who flits about with little wings and smites people." A grin slowly spread on the Doctor's face as he reached this realization, excitedly moving towards Castiel, while Dean, yet again, aggressively pushed Castiel back behind him, gripping Cas' coated arm tightly, the fabric bunching in his hand. "Well, it's an absolute honor to meet you! I knew I would be encountering things even I hadn't seen before, but an angel… an in the first two hours of our trip!" The Doctor turned to the Ponds excitedly, whose jaws were slack and eyes nearly popping out of their sockets. "Oh, a true honor, Castiel, angel of the Lord…" The Doctor rambled on, as Castiel studied him with a slightly cocked head.

"So, now there are angels… as well as demons?" Rory asked, his voice shaky. Amy rolled her eyes slightly at him, breaking out her trance.

"Rory, if there's a Heaven, Hell, and demons, then of course there's angels." Amy said this as if it was an obvious fact, but, truthfully, she was as surprised as her husband was.

"You- you lot are completely bonkers! They are, aren't they, Sherlock? They're lying!" John stuttered, bringing attention back to the only two 'normal' humans in the room. Sherlock looked at him again, and grimaced slightly, standing.

"They don't believe they are… Which they likely are not." Sherlock said this quietly, almost a whisper. John seemed awestruck at this.

"But you don't believe them, do you? I mean… it's… so obvious it's lies! This stuff doesn't exist in real life! You're a logical man, Sherlock. Tell them." John huffily turned towards his flat mate, who stayed perched in his chair.

"The man healed himself with glowy light, John. What do you think is a logical explanation?" John fell back against the arm of his chair, burying his hands in his face. "There was clearly no other way he could have recovered from the wound, which you yourself said was lethal. He had no device on him, and no medical device would have such an effect- clearly no one had planned this event as some sort of distraction, even his colleagues were clearly shocked." Sherlock glanced up at Cas. "And you can feel it too, can't you? There's something off about him. For a clearly English-as first language speaker, his mannerisms are awkward and too proper, like he's just figuring out how to talk to people now- no boarding school or etiquette classes would teach him that. He's not like us, John." John shook his head violently.

"Well, not like me." John mumbled under his breath.

"Once you rule out the impossible, whatever remains—however improbable—must be true," Sherlock said, directly to John now. He slid down from his chair, touching John's arm slightly. The rest of the people in the room stared at the smaller man, still leaning, face in hands, on the arm of his chair. Sherlock squeezed his arm once. John slowly brought his head up, smiling just a little.

"I knew I should have gone to Church like my mum told me." John slowly brought his head up, smiling just a little. Sherlock grinned at him.

"Well, you two are taking this… better than most." Rory said, leaving Sam to nod in agreement.

"I still… can't really believe this, but if Sherlock says so… he's the best, and most intelligent man I know. I'll stick by him." John straightened himself, clearing his throat. Cas glanced towards Sherlock at this, and he was sure, strangely enough, that the serious man appeared to be blushing.

"Good enough for me. As long as you guys don't bitch about it." Dean rolled his eyes, getting a look from Sam.

"So… if what the-" John swallowed a little. "Angel. If what the angel says is true- you're an… alien?" John looked, trying his best not to even more confused and horrified then he did. This resulted in yet another eye-roll, from Sherlock.

"The so-far infinite cosmos of the universe makes it more likely than not that there would be extra-terrestrial life somewhere. It frankly surprises me that it took this long for us to find out. I suppose Mycroft knew already…"

"Oh, don't act like you can take this all in stride, Sherlock." John sighed at his companion.

"Cas… he's… an alien?" Dean muttered to his angel.

"Dean, I have mentioned multiple times the existence of life on other planets. Earth was hardly the only planet created." Cas smirked a little at this, but his comment distressed John even more.

"Oh… yes…" John whimpered.

"It's true that Earth if often a pinnacle for great Holy occurrences, but I believe it's solely the quirks of the humans as a species themselves that brings this attention. Earth is not in the least the most important planet." Cas said, glancing at the Doctor, as if to say, These humans! The Doctor smiled widely at this, while all the Earthlings seemed quite offended.

"They are just so wonderful and curious, aren't they!" The Doctor pinched Rory's cheek playfully, an action Rory himself was deeply disturbed by, as the Doctor moved towards Castiel again, this time uninterrupted.

"I've never met a non-human. Besides angel or demon, of course." Castiel smiled at this, like it was a joke. "My garrison is stationed at Earth." Castiel stepped towards the Doctor as well, studying him with great intensity, which made Dean frown.

"And I've never had the pleasure of meeting an angel! You are one of the most…" The Doctor circled Castiel curiously, grinning and stopping at various points. "Ingenious, powerful, and beautiful of species!"

Dean didn't really like this "Doctor". The Doctor stopped again for one last time, now facing Cas, and smiled widely. "I'm the Doctor, hailing from the planet Gallifrey." Castiel's eyes widened.

"Gallifrey, the Gallifrey of the Time Lords? The most important planet in the great Time War?" Castiel was very flustered, gesturing wildly towards Dean and Sam, who just stared at him blankly. "This is a Time Lord! The most feared- and respected- of God's creations!" Cas smiled at the Doctor.

Dean definitely didn't like the Doctor.

"Oh, well, that's too much." The Doctor grinned, looking down a little, bashful.

"His race- the Doctor's race- evolved out of one of the oldest, and wisest of God's creatures. He made your ancestors reminiscent of Angels, with your people's abilities over time and your supreme intelligence… My garrison have heard whispers of the Time War, but never witnessed it. None of us were that lucky." Cas' face darkened, and he stopped, again solemn. "I'm sorry for you loss." Amy and Rory protectively moved to the Doctor's side, whose face had also fallen. The rest of the room looked up, now curious.

"It was a long time ago." The Doctor said quietly.

The room was silent for a moment, but the Doctor looked up again, brightly now, in his usual demeanor.

"Well, enough of this sad rubbish! Shall we step inside my ship to get more private correspondence?" The Doctor glanced nervously around the flat. "No demon proofing here."

"You brought your…" Sam raised an eyebrow. "Ship?"

"I like the TARDIS more anyway. It's roomier."

"The… what?" Dean squinted, mystified.

"The Time and Relative Dimension in Space!" The Doctor's trio said, relatively in unison, which both mystified and impressed the other five in the room, except maybe Sherlock.

"Let's go, Doctor!" Amy spun out of the room, Rory in reluctant tow. As the Doctor gestured for the Winchesters to follow, she popped her head back in, halting John and Sherlock. "Oi! Not you two."

Sherlock, annoyed, stared the redhead down. "And why not? We have as much of a right to this meeting as those two utter idiots and their socially awkward angel."

"Because the angel is the only one socially awkward, Sherlock." John muttered.

"Not really, no. Amy's right. They're all trained in the fighting monsters gobbeldy-goop. You two… less so. Nothing to offer our little quest. Also, we don't want innocents in danger." The Doctor smiled apologetically at the two men.

"What quest?" Sam asked, making his way towards the door as well.

"The one about the demons of course!" Amy said, smiling. She disappeared again.

"You guys are here for the demons too? Why?"

"Well… long story." The group tried to leave, again stopped short by Sherlock.

"If you leave now, we'll call the police, or better, my brother. The British government will most likely be interested in an angel, alien, and their identity-fraud committing accomplices, won't they?" The Doctor sighed, frowning.

"I really don't like dealing with your leaders. All quite a stuffy lot. Rules and that sort of thing. Also, for the record, my accomplices don't commit any sort of fraud."

"If you do, we could just shoot you before you even dialed." Dean said, cocking his gun again, pointing it towards Sherlock.

"Not if I'm already calling." Sherlock smugly held up his mobile, slightly waving it, taunting Dean. Mycroft's caller ID was on the screen, the phone audibly ringing as the phone swayed in Sherlock's hand.

Another tense silence filled the room.

"We're working on the case too!" John squeaked out. He cleared his throat, and stepped from behind Sherlock. "We're kind of… detectives." Sherlock scoffed, causing John to, yet again, sigh. "Well, he is. I'm just his doctor-assistant… anyways that's not important." John took a deep breath. "The demons have to do with the mass murders, correct? That's our case- we know more about it than anyone at this point." Sam, Dean and Cas regarded them warily.

"Well, come on then!" The Doctor smiled at John, grabbing his hand and nearly dragging him across the floor towards the door.

"Wait, wait, wait!" Dean grabbed John's other arm, jerking him back into the room. Sherlock shoved Dean away, putting his hand protectively on John's shoulder.

"What now?" The Doctor said, impatiently now.

"Well, you're just so quick to trust them? Take them aboard your ship? Endanger them? They even could be working for the demons. Or demons themselves." Sam said, nodding in agreement with Dean. The Doctor pursed his lips, turning to Sam.

"I take on companions all the time. The more the merrier!" The Doctor adjusted his bow tie. "And, well, obviously Castiel here would have alerted us if they were demons." The Doctor looked up and down Sherlock and John, similarly to the fashion he did Castiel, and then cheekily grinned at them. "They seem like nice chaps!"

The Doctor hustled out of the room, following the loud ruckus that was his ginger and the nose down the hallway.

Dean and Cas walked out next, Dean following Cas out, who seemed positively ecstatic, or at least as ecstatic as Cas could look.

"Why do you two even want to come with us?" Sam said, turning back to the two men."I mean… you two have a pretty normal life. Why do you want to give it all up for some crazy as shit adventure about things you two thought… up to now… was all myth?"

John and Sherlock exchanged looks, and then Sherlock looked at Sam, grinning.

"Because I'm frightfully bored, and this may prove to be the most interesting case I've ever had." Sam stared at the two men in front of him, not sure what to make of it. Then, he just laughed, and followed his brother out.

"Sherlock, what's that noise?" John asked. Now that it was silent, Sherlock could hear the muffled… screaming? Talking? He spun around in confusion… the noise seemingly coming from below him.

"Oh." Sherlock held up his phone, a little dumbly. He put it to his ear, only to grimace at the blaring noise of his brother, annoyed, screaming into his ear. Sherlock let out a deep and throaty sigh, mouthing Mycroft at John. John rolled his eyes, slowly making his way out of the flat. Sherlock paced back and forth for a while, his free hand ticking restlessly on his hip. "Of course I called for a good reason, Mycroft. It was a threat… No I'm not in trouble. Of course I would like to waste your time. Oh, don't even bother-"

"Holmes, you coming or what?" Sherlock heard Amy yelling from outside of his building.

"Do shut up, Mycroft. I'm going on an adventure!" Sherlock said, obnoxiously brightly and loudly, into the phone, before hanging up on his brother.

With that, he took one last look at his flat, took one last tentative grin, and followed his roommate down the stairs.

* * *

A/N: WOO! Chapter 8 is up... We may have a short hiatus/slow updating period because we need to think about what we're going to do with the story from here... no worries! We're definitely going to finish this. Yet again, thank you to all the people who followed, reviewed, or favorite! We are absolutely flabbergasted and fangirling over the response. 33 love you all!


	9. Interlude-WARNING- RATED M FOR CRACKNESS

A/N: This little crack!SPN piece that we (really, mostly she, ehehe) wrote as a break in the story and as a place holder while we continued the real piece... CHECK IT OUT IF YOU LIKE LAUGHING BECAUSE I DIED WHILE READING IT, if not, just wait for the next update in the story :). RATED M, so be warned.

* * *

interlude

by amelia

Gabriel and Sam wwre in a room and then through a door they saw deam and casserole fuckin in the window.

"who knew cas had a vagina" said Gabriel, wigglin his eyebrows to the top of his head.

"what"

"Sammy u know what I have a vagina"

"what"

"Sammy"

"what"

"get me pregnant"

"what"

and so gaybriel took off his shirt and pants and sure enough he wos wering manpanties and he had a vagina surprise!1111!

nd then he and sam had passionate hot fuk sex until bobby fount them and fucking stopped them cause why the fuck were they screwing in his kitchen anyways.

The next day Gabriel peed and found out that he was 6 pregnant. It was going to be a kink manpreg baby.

Then the next day Gabriel had hes baby, they named her Crowley Twerkabella the Second. She had wings that were black and it wa s so fucking metal.

"what the fuck am I sposed to do with this fucking baby eat it" asked sammy

"DENA I HAVE SOMETHIN TO TELL YOU." Shouted cas.

dEan and Cas were in a starbucks in new jersey. Sam wasnt payin attention cause he was checking out a teenage white girl in yoga pants uggs and holding and iphone6.

"WHAT IS IT CAS." DEam shooted back, raisins his mosey green eyes, like the trees.

Cast took a breath. He snaked a lon hary arm ouut towards his manfriend. "DNEA I THINK I LOVE YOU," he breathed loudly.

"CAS LOL Y THE FUCK U SHOUTIN"

"SHUT THE FUCK UP U LIL BITCHCUNT I'LL SLAP U IN YTHE SHIT."

THE yelling was attracting Am. "lol guise what r u doin ur mad loud lol stfu nigga damn." He whispered.

"SAMMY U LIL SHIT" Dean pushed him of the tanle and he fell over blooding.

"K GOOD WE ALONE NOW TAKE OFF YOUR CLOTHES." Screeched cas.

"what"

"GIVE ME UR DICK LOL"

An than they dd it rite on the table ta the ihOP.


	10. Chapter 9

CHAPTER 9

"Go on- say it. Everyone does."

Sam looked around in awe. "Does it have wi-fi?" he asked, his voice filled with wonder.

The Doctor's grin fell. "Not exactly what I was expecting… but yes. She does." The Doctor pressed a button, and eight orange lounge chairs rose from the floor, encircling the control panel.

Dean and Cas where the next one in, Dean giving a loud exclamation of, "What the fucking hell!" When he noticed the physical inconsistencies in the ship, and Cas reacting by simply looking around in childlike amazement, which made the Doctor so happy he kind of just followed Castiel around, looking at the angel happily, explaining each and everything they came to.

"Since when do we have chairs, Doctor?" Amy and Rory got in, looking in confusion at the orange, fluffy looking chairs.

The Doctor grinned and sat in one, spinning around.

"Since I asked the TARDIS very nicely!"

John and Sherlock entered next. John's jaw simply dropped, and the Doctor was quite pleased as he ran back and forth inside and out of the TARDIS, as most people do.

"It's… bigger on the inside!" John exclaimed, his eyes bright with excitement and confusion.

"Yes! Thank you! Someone finally said it."

"Thank you for your input, John." Sherlock mumbled. His eyes were widened, but he was simply quietly studying his surroundings.

"You're not having any trouble with this? This is so, clearly-" John poked his head out of the door again, and then looked back around the shop. "absolutely, illogical!" John said to the side, looking at Sherlock as the rest of the group congregated around Sam's laptop.

Sherlock was silent for a moment, but then he turned to John. "Clearly, I am doing fine, John." He moved towards the larger group. John frowned, and followed his friend.

"Based on the information that Bobby worked up, these attacks are definitely organized by strong demons- they're controlling hundreds, possibly thousands of these attacks, all over the world. But, most importantly, here in London."

"Well, home are we supposed to stop hundreds of attacks?" John asked.

Sam looked up at him. "We target the leaders. Without orders, demons usually either go cause minor, messy havoc or go into hiding. Especially if they're new to Earth, like all of these demons are. The EMF at Devil's Gates all over the world is spiking which means new demons. Hunters can handle demons once the groups are split, but it's the precision and quickness of these attacks that are preventing us from exorcising them."

"Wow. Well, I didn't understand half of what you just said." Amy cheerily said. John, Rory, and even Sherlock agreed in small nods.

"Bottom line, something is planning these big-ass, but quick attacks everywhere. Looking for him." Dean said, pointing to the Doctor.

"The omens that are appearing before the attacks let us narrow it down to three demons- Vine, Futur and Malthus."

"Vine? What the hell kind of name is that? Is the demon a plant? And since when do we have a demon encyclopedia?" Dean asked, shifting his position. Sam had waited to tell him all of this shit until now?

"Since the Lesser Key of Solomon, in the seventeenth century, Dean. You just don't like to research with us." Dean grumbled under his breath, and looked a little bit embarrassed.

"Well- three, that's good, right?" Stuttered John. "Eight of us, three of them. They're outnumbered."

"False. I don't know much about demons, but I do know that three of them, have just about the same power about of ten of you-" The Doctor looked at the hunters for confirmation, who nodded a little. "Sans, of course, the angel and the Time Lord in the room." The Doctor grinned.

"Not to mention, these are demons around since King Solomon was around." Sam said, closing his laptop with a sigh.

"For someone who is fairly newly exposed to the conducts of Heaven and Hell, you are quite knowledgeable." Castiel admitted, nodding towards the Doctor in approval.

"Why, thank you. You're an angel." The Doctor giggled slightly at his own pun, causing both Rory and Amy to roll their eyes. Dean joined them.

"You were saying, Sammy? The demons? Our case?"

"Yeah. Anyway, this shit is pretty vague, but Malthus is the weakest. And can control… weapons?"

"What?" Rory asked, squinting slightly. "Which weapons? And what do you mean, 'control'?"

Sam shrugged. "I told you it's kind of vague. It's said stuff about him being able to conjure weapons and fire. Next, Furtur-"

"Wait." Cas stopped Sam temporarily, tilting his head, drawing the attention of the large group, even John, who had seemed to have a decidedly confused look on his face during the conversation so far.

"What, Cas?" Dean asked, worried, stepping towards him.

"You said… Furtur?" Sam nodded, a little slowly.

"What is it?

"It just sounds… familiar that's all." Cas frowned. "Continue."

"Furtur can control lightning and thunder, one of the things that led us to him, as well as the last, but definitely not least, Vine. Severe storms have been present, Vine's thing, at nearly every site of attack, and unexplained lightning at and fire at most others."

"So you're saying they've been leaving their calling cards?"Amy said, tilting her head towards Sam.

"Yeah." Sam laughed a little, smiling up at Amy. He kind of liked the girl, she had spirit, and she was really taking this all in stride. "I guess you could say that."

"We don't have anything else besides their names and superpowers?" Dean asked, wiggling his fingers in jazz-handy sarcasm at, 'superpowers'.

"That's right." Sam sighed, leaning back in his chair.

"Well, as Dean would say, this seems like a shitty start." Cas said, his brow furrowing.

"We try not to use those words in the TARDIS." Said the Doctor, his eyes widening childishly.

"What are you, three?" Sherlock said, turning away from the group to study his surroundings again.

"It's just, she doesn't like it." The Doctor whined.

"My apologies." Cas said, blushing.

"I think the most appropriate seeming reaction at this point would be to research the demons? I also have acquired the pictures of the corpse left at the antique shop at the last killing- With, what looks like, Babylonian symbols or Hebrew carved on the chest." Sherlock interjected. Both Sam and the Doctor perked up at this. John and him, though still quite out of their element, and of course, still admiring the 'bigger-on-the-inside' spaceship they were, Sherlock still didn't want to be a next to useless information provider.

"That's good. I mean, we know a little… but I barely had time to research at the airport." Sam agreed. He turned towards the Doctor. "Hey, Doc, do you have any… um… Bibles? It's the first thing that comes to mind after the Lesser Key of King Solomon, which me and Bobby already kind of destroyed researching."

The Doctor pondered upon this for a moment, then his face lit up.

"In fact I might! I may have a couple of old copies of some Gutenbergs somewhere in this old thing." The Doctor said, appreciatively patting the TARDIS. "Come along! We can all have one." The Doctor grabbed Amy and Rory's hands, leading them up the stairs behind the control panel of the TARDIS.

"You have copies… of the Gutenberg Bible?" John's eyes widened to extreme sizes, even for him.

"Oh… yes. Time travel, you see. Hard to explain. It's all quite wibbly wobbly…" The Doctor's voice trailed off as the group of John, Rory, Amy, Sam, and Sherlock followed him out. Sherlock paused slightly before leaving, silently observing Dean and Cas still standing in the control room before leaving.

Cas was following the Doctor out of the room, admiration in his eyes.

"He's quite amazing, isn't he?"

Fuming, Dean stood up, clapping his hands together.

"Okay, I need some air. Gonna go to a pub- never been to a pub. Pubs are really… English." Dean scrunched his nose up as he said this, then shrugged.

Castiel turned to Dean, confused.

"You're not going to help? I think it would be more efficient if we all stayed and found out as much as we could- We must get rid of the demons as fast as possible, and of course the Doctor's life is at stake-"

"I said I needed some air, Cas." Dean could barely keep from shouting, his face red now. Dean grabbed his coat, and pushed out of the doors of the TARDIS.

…

Dean didn't like the rental car. It was shiny, white and new- nothing like his baby. Dean missed the Impala, with it's age and familiarity and good music on his tapes. Instead, he listened to the crappy Brit pop that blasted from the radio with angry reluctance. 221B was quite far from the hotel.

Dean was on some congested London roundabout that was filled with angry Brits in small cars, and the continuous going around in circles, as well as the weird ass driving on the wrong side of the road, was making Dean stressed and confused, to be frank. Suddenly, there was a body in the passenger seat, and a gruff voice spoke.

"Hello, Dean." Dean jumped, cursing. He swerved slightly, a few cars near him honking.

"What the hell, Cas!"

"I'm sorry." Dean sighed. "I'm sorry about everything."

"Why should I care if you like some alien?" Dean grumbled, half to himself, half to his angel. "I mean, I don't I just- Ugh. I need a drink."

"Dean, I apologize for my fascination with the Timelord. Just, after millennia of being here, watching humans-" Dean shot Cas a look, picking up on the slight exasperation in the angel's voice. "Sorry, just, humans are tiresome sometimes. Violent, and cruel, and capricious- though somehow predictable." Cas shrugged, continuing. "I was merely in awe. I wasn't-" Cas swallowed, searching for the word. "Interested. If that is what concerns you."

Dean sighed again.

"Yeah, okay."

Castiel ground his teeth nervously. "That aside, I was very selfish. I'm a pretty- pretty shitty angel, as you would say. I wasn't considering you or your brother's feelings. I wasn't even trying to get information on the case. I have not been very useful lately." Cas stared out onto the lights of the city.

"Yeah, okay, Cas. I get it. You're sorry." Dean muttered, still obviously a little peeved.

"Dean, what I said about humans- about them being cruel, it's not always true." Dean glanced over at the angel, whose blue eyes were fixed intently on Dean's own green ones. Dean flushed again, now glancing out the window. "Human can also be kind, forgiving, and intriguing. Also strange. And very beautiful, in some instances." Cas bit his lip, leaning back in his seat, looking again out towards the city. Dean swallowed a little, feeling his face lighting up even more, hoping to God- or to someone, at least- that Cas couldn't see him in the darkness of the car. He could swear that Castiel was closer than he was before.

A phone notification buzzed.

Dean let his breath out, the tension in the car dissipating as Castiel picked it up. He stared quizzically at it for a minute, then looked towards Dean.

"You have a voicemail from Sam."

…

The group sits tiredly in the TARDIS, all browsing their different Bibles with, now, very little interest. Amy had placed her head on the lap of Rory on one of the benches, lying across the bench as he sat up. Amy could barely hold her attention from the beginning, and was now sleeping (her usually sleep schedule had been disrupted enough, it was nearly ten, and she was used to going to bed at nine to be up bright and early the next day for work). Rory had all but given up. John sat studiously next to them, trying to keep his attentions on the Gutenberg Bible in front of him (which he still couldn't really believe was true. A Gutenberg Bible! And they had just been lying messily at the foot of some bookshelf!). Sam kept typing away at his laptop, entering any information he thought could be useful into the little machine. Sherlock had long before given up, and was now just curiously poking around the TARDIS.

The Doctor, of course, had been the very first one to lose his attentions, and now was just proudly showing off his, 'Sexy', to Sherlock, who looked more intrigued than John had seen him in a long while, though clearly frustrated with the Doctor's presence in his observations.

"So, are you two…?" John asked tentatively at Rory. John felt awakard, sitting so close to a man he had met only four hours ago, yet knowing nothing about him. Also, he was on a spaceship, and could do for some normal banter.

"Married? Yeah." Rory smiled, looking down at his sleeping wife. John raised his eyebrows slightly.

"You two are married?" He asked, a little confused.

Rory frowned, turning to John.

"Yeah. I mean, I just said we were." Rory laughed a little. "Why?"

"Oh." John's eyes flicked towards the Doctor, a miniscule movement he hoped Rory didn't notice. "Just, it doesn't seem much like it. Er… sorry?" Rory stared back down at his sleeping wife, and shrugged, then busied himself back in the Bible.

There was a knock on the TARDIS.

At first, no one noticed it, but slowly, the knocking's intensity grew. Sherlock turned, puzzled, towards the door. No one else seemed to notice it.

"Doctor."

"And this… this is the little switchy witchy that lets us fly in the first place, it's connected to the quantum-"

"Doctor." Sherlock said again, stopping the rambling man.

"What? Don't like the tour?"

"Though your tour was certainly very-" Sherlock paused, choosing his words to the powerful alien carefully, "informative, I think you have a visitor." The Doctor spun towards the door confused. This had now attracted the attention of everyone else in the room, who were now all staring at the door.

The knock occurred again, louder.

"Maybe it's Dean and Cas?" Sam shrugged.

"No. It's not." The Doctor's face had darkened, and he rushed to one of the monitors.

"How do you know?" John asked, getting up and walking towards them, Sam following him. Rory shook Amy up, and she sat up, annoyed.

"One, because I'm nearly sure Cas and Dean would just zap themselves in here and-" The Doctor paused, staring at the screen. "This." The men gathered around the small screen.

There were three figures visible, all looking up directly at the camera that was placed above the door to the TARDIS, staring, impossibly, directly into the eyes of their viewers on the other side of the screen. Their faces were dimly illuminated by the street light around them, but their eyes were somehow inhumanly bright in the monitor of the TARDIS.

"Doctor! Oh, Doctor! Aren't you going to let us in! It's quite rude to keep guests waiting."

"You have… appointments?" Sam said, looking to the Doctor in confusion.

"Oh, I'm not that kind of doctor-" The Doctor pointed towards John. "He's that kind of doctor."

"What he's trying to say is- no. He doesn't. Ever." Amy gulped, her eyes full of fear. Amy and Rory backed up slowly from the door. "Doctor? That's not one of your old companions, is it?"

"No, obviously not." The Doctor scoffed, peeking back at the screen. "They look- rough."

"Doctor! We don't like waiting." The staticy voice cried out, seemingly coming from all over the TARDIS now.

"Doctor, you do have the TARDIS protected from demons, don't you?" Rory asked the Doctor, grabbing his friend's arm. The Doctor laughed a little nervously.

"I mean, I'm almost sure-"

"Sam, do you have something to kill these with?" Rory asked, Amy and him moving quickly back to the larger group, now all of them looking at the door in different degrees of fear, worry, and readiness for attack.

"Shit, Dean has the knife." Sam said, rummaging around his own duffel finding a gun, and grabbing two contained of salt out, tossing them to Amy and Rory. "This will have to do." John acknowledged Sam's gun, and him and Sherlock brought out their own. The Doctor glanced around him, and sighed.

"Is this just one big gun party?" He grumbled, whipping out his sonic screwdriver.

"Amy, Rory, Doctor, I suggest you stand behind the men with the firearms." Sherlock quipped, as him, John and Sam readied their weapons, the knocking now aggressive banging, shaking the door.

"And I suggest you stand behind the man with the sonic screwdriver." The Doctor said, stepping in front of Sherlock, who probably would have said something bitter and surely rude, if not at that moment, someone kicked in the door. "Sexy!", whimpered the Doctor.

Three figures stood in the rubble, two men and a woman, who wore a tight leather jacket and skinny jeans. Her hair was long and curly, also black, and her lips and nails were a scarlet hue, not unlike blood. She blinked, her eyes black and tar like.

"Those are demons?" John whispered, to anyone who would listen, really.

"They're possessing humans. In their real form, they're more of spiritual clouds of dark, evil intent." The Doctor said, still playfully, but the worry clear in his voice.

"They just took three humans? And are riding around in them?" Rory exclaimed.

"Now you get why we hate them." Sam said. He turned his attention towards the demons again, focusing on the leader. "Vine," breathed Sam.

"Pleased to meet you, Samuel Winchester." Vine's voice was crisp, and clear, but deep, and rolling, containing more power than it seemed. "Didn't know you heard of me, Winchester." Vine's eyes, now their original human color, glanced down towards the ground in anger. "Your Father sent me back to Hell once. So I'm not exactly a family fan." Vine smirked, baring her teeth. "But the honor of meeting Lucifer's one, true, vessel leaps beyond a petty thing like that." Vine looked up and down Sam, grimacing slightly. "Though I suppose you're not very important anymore, Lucie being the Cage, with Michael, and all. Gotta thank you for putting Michael away. Never liked that son of a bitch." Vine smiled sweetly at Amy, sending a shiver through Amy's body. Sam stiffened at the mention of Lucifer, the Devil of a problem lying under in Hell neither him nor Dean had to deal with in a couple years.

"Lucifer's what?!" John stepped away from Sam's side, putting his gun down for a moment.

"Calm down, I'll explain later." Sam set it jaw.

Vine slinked towards the Doctor, causing the Timelord to shimmy closer to his companions. She moved mostly with her hips, but clearly military walk still in her stride, as Sherlock noted. "Mm, yes, later." She stared at the Doctor, a smile playing on her face. Sam, closest to the alien, held up his gun closer to her. She looked up at him, her face quizzical. "You think that could stop you? Your little guns?" Vine grinned. "You can't kill us." She turned her attentions back towards the Doctor. "We're just here to introduce ourselves, clearly not necessary any longer, but mostly to admire our friend here…" She looked him up and down, and gently traced his cheekbone with a manicured nail. "We do want to make sure our goods are safe. And to show him what he's up against, I suppose."

The whole group seemed to take in a breath, the demon so close to them. She emitted a crackling, dangerous kind of energy.

One of the men behind Vine, still near to the door, chuckled. His vessel looked to be in his early twenties, awkward, slumpy, gangly, and with a rat like face. Sam could immediately place him as Malthus, he clearly had the least power in the room. That meant the other, a tall, muscled, snakelike man in his forties, with a black buzz cut and two silver earrings, was Furtur, Vine's second-in-command.

"Why are you toying with the meat, Vine?" Furtur growled out, speaking for the first time. His voice was as terrifying as his appearance.

"We will leave, Furtur. Soon."

"Um, excuse me," piped up Rory, raising a shaky hand. "I mean no disrespect, please don't kill me, but, um, why don't you just take the Doctor now?" Both the Doctor and Amy turned to Rory, faces contorted in disgust. "Not that I want him to be taken, it just seems- I mean- you're capable of-"

"Rory, shut up," whispered Amy, nudging him.

The demon was about to answer, but Sherlock interrupted. "Well, honestly, that's quite obvious. These three idiots aren't in charge. They're working for someone. They're here to scope out the scene-"

"Do be quiet, meat." Vine grinned, snapping her fist shut, closing Sherlock's mouth with it, his eyes widening in surprise.

John turned angrily to Vine, stepping forwards. "Fix him!" John cried.

Vine lightly touched John's gun, playing with it in her hands. She moved towards him, backing him away from the rest of the group until he was stuck between her and one of the railings of the TARDIS. He was so close to her, he could feel her breath, that smelt of blood and steel, on his face. Sherlock immediately turned towards John, gun still ready, but the rest of the group spun back and forth, trying to decide which group of enemies to face.

"Meat, do you think you have any right to tell me what to do?" Vine rolled her stormy grey eyes over the man, who was nearly shaking in terror. She closed her eyes, her eyeballs twitching beneath her lids. As she opened them again, they were glowing, a strange, grey light glowing from them. "You, the broken man from the war, who had to rely on this damaged addict for help?" John's brow was brought down in confusion, and he glanced at Sherlock. Vine laughed, and she gently touched his throat with her thumb and index finger, digging one manicured nail into his neck. "I could snap your neck. Right here, right no-"

A loud bang tore the tension, and the whole group jumped with surprise. John, now with blood splattered on his face, looked on in shock as Vine picked herself up from the ground. Blood now dripped slowly down her torso from a gunshot wound on her neck, starkly contrasting her vessel's pale skin.

Vine turned around quickly, staring at Sherlock in pure fury.

"You shot me!" She turned to Malthus and Furtur in shock, them both on edge now. "The meat shot me! Malthus!" Malthus was cackling, nearly rolling on the floor with laughter. "Malthus!" Vine hissed at him. She marched towards him, and he quickly regained his composure. Furtur looked mildly amused, but wasn't voicing any opinions.

Malthus slowly brought up his hand, shaped in a finger gun, and stared at Sherlock in the eyes, Malthus' own eyes glowing black again.

"Bang." The dark revolver seemed to materialize in his hand instantly, and he promptly shot Sherlock in the shoulder, just catching his neck as well.

"NO!" John's breath caught in his throat, and his gun was dropped to the floor. Amy and Rory jumped back in shock, making room for John to rush by them.

Sam cursed under his breath, but kept his own gun trained on the group of demons still currently in the room.

Sherlock grimaced, gripping the wound, blood welling over his fingers. He could tell the bullet had punctured a major artery, and estimated in five minutes, he would have lost a pint and a half of blood. Not good. Sherlock's face was white, but he looked calmly up at his assistant, who was sputtering and whimpering. "John, do be quiet. If I'm dying, I don't want the last thing I hear to be you screaming." Sherlock sighed, somewhat of a struggle for him now.

"Dying? Sherlock, oh God, oh God." He shrugged off Sherlock's coat, and examined the wound as fast as he could.

"John, I know, I know, the artery."

"We have to put pressure on it." Amy quickly tossed her scarf towards them, her face twitching slightly in seeing so much blood. Rory grabbed her hand.

"Hopefully, this will teach you six to stop meddling." Vine grinned, looking around at the rest of the group. "Or- eight. Forgot about that pretty little rebel angel and his boyfriend, the Righteous Man." She smirked.

"Castiel." Furtur said, looking a little disturbed at the mention of the angel.

The Doctor looked at Sam mouthing, "Boyfriend?", in disbelief.

Sam rolled his eyes and shook his head.

"And Doctor? If we want, we will kill you again and again until you have no more regeneration energy left- then we'll leave you in your final life to shoot all of little friends, ain't that right, Miss?" Malthus chuckled, and looked at Vine, his black eyes glittering.

Vine gave an airy laugh. She looked at her men, then back at the group. "Goodbye, peasants!" She smiled venomously.

Then she was gone, with the rest of them.

As soon as they'd all recovered from the shock, they turned their attention to Sherlock, who had lost much more blood that was safe in any way, and was close to passing out.

"Sam, Castiel is able to heal, correct?"

"Oh, good idea. I was wondering why they aren't back yet." Sam got out his cell phone, and dialed Dean's number, twice. No reply, so he left a voicemail, at this point a little more than anxious. "Hey, uh, Dean, the demons showed up. Yeah. We sort of need you and Cas here right now. One of them shot Sherlock, and he's hurt pretty bad. I was about to go in with the whiskey and dental floss…"

"The what?" John shouted from across the room, where he was pawing through his bag in a crazed fashion, looking for anything that could help Sherlock as fast as possible. "I am a doctor, you remember!" Sam ignored him.

"-but when I say he's hurt pretty bad, I mean like, Cas, zap yourself over here now, because he's dying. No idea what you're doing, but, Cas, hurry your little chat up. Bye."

He put down the phone, shaking his head.

Sherlock was pretty out of it now, and was losing only more blood by the minute. John kept trying someone to get his medical kit, but everyone except for Sam was fairly unresponsive.

"Mrs. Hudson gets the skull," said Sherlock, his head lolling back, his face snowy white. "Mycroft gets my money. It's mostly his, anyhow. You can have," he paused, catching his breath, addressing John. "I dunno. my scarf.

"Sherlock- what-" John clutched at Sherlock's shirt.

"My will, John. I never wrote one. So since I'm dying-"

"Sherlock, shut up, you're not dying. Stop wasting breath." John's voice cracked, and he wiped his face. Sherlock coughed a laugh, and red speckled John's white sweater.

The group looked up as Castiel appeared in the middle of the room. Castiel immediately moved towards Sherlock.

"About time! He's dying over here, and you're on a nice stroll. Where the hell were you?" Amy asked.

Castiel placed a hand on Sherlock's wound. "I'm about to heal you. You might want to stop talking." He looked around. "Everybody, shield your eyes," he added.

At that, the TARDIS filled with an intense white light. When the angel removed his hand, the skin on Sherlock's shoulder was clean and unbroken, as well as neck. The only evidence of the wound were the bloodstains on Sherlock's and John's clothes.

John was thorougly examining the former gunshot wound, and Sherlock was trying to brush him off, when Dean burst in, eyeing the wreckage of the door and the blood on the floor.

"Wow, you guys sure held up without us." Dean deadpanned.

"Oh, and thank you for taking your time while I'm bleeding out over here." Sherlock tossed over his shoulder at Dean.

Dean glared at him and shook his head. "Keep your sleuthy mouth shut. It's Cas' fault, really. He freaking zapped away without telling me anything."

Cas stood up slowly, his eyes still closed.

"They were here. Three of them, yes?"

"Yeah- how did you know?" Amy asked.

"I can still sense their presences." Cas paused, and opened his eyes. "They attacked you?"

As John helped Sherlock up, he nodded angrily.

"Obviously! One of them bloody shot Sherlock! He nearly died!" John said, huffily. Cas rolled his eyes, an action that made Dean a little proud of his angel.

"Yes, I am aware of that Sherlock was shot, I was the one to heal him. That he is alive now is one of the many things I'm now concerned about." Cas squinted, still staring at Sherlock, tilting his head.

"What? You're concerned that Sherlock is alive? What? Do you want him dead?" John looked increasingly exasperated.

"Just, be quiet for a moment." Castiel held up a hand to silence John. John tried to protest, but he soon realized that what Castiel said was not so much of a request as a command. Sherlock stepped towards Castiel.

"Don't just ignore him! Answer our questions-" Sherlock started, but the Doctor stepped in front of him, staring him in the face.

"I would like to remind you that that is an ancient celestial being, and you are a human who does not fully belong on this trip!" The Doctor said, overly cheerily. His face darkened. "We can throw you out at any time, if we wanted. You're only here to help, not to start up quarrels." Sherlock opened his mouth, but closed it again, pressing it down in a thin line of indignation.

"Doctor-" Amy took a step towards her Doctor, who shot her a look.

"This mission is more important than these two." He said simply. Amy brought her eyebrows together, biting her lip.

"Cas?" Sam and Dean advanced towards the angel. Cas' eyes whipped open, and he turned around in confused circles.

"I don't understand. They could have just killed you." His blue eyes turned to Sherlock, who was staring at Cas with little emotion.

"Yeah, well Sherlock here kind of shot one of them, which I think pissed them off a little." Sam rolled his eyes, jabbing a thumb in Sherlock's direction. "I think they wanted him to really feel his mistake."

Cas paused, and was dumbfounded for a moment. "But… then why would they come here? Just to taunt you?"

"Pretty much." Rory muttered.

Castiel paused in the middle of the room again, waiting, biting his lip. "I must follow them. I will be back."

"Cas-" Dean started, but with a flap of wings, his friend was gone. Dean placed his face in his hand tiredly. "Dammit."

"Did- did he just leave us here, with no explanation? Unprotected from those- things?" John sputtered.

"It's happens a lot more freaking often than you think." Dean said, raising his hands in the air in annoyance.

"But he'll be back. Don't worry." Sam smiled at John, trying to be reassuring.

"In the meantime, Johnny here did bring up a good point!" The Doctor smiled widely, hopping down from his perch on the control panel. "Time to demon proof the TARDIS!" The Doctor ran quickly out of the room, leaving the six people in the room to stare at the hallway he tumbled down.

"Doctor? Where are you going?" Amy called after him, running towards him.

"I'm sure that I have some in the storage closet! Or one of the storage closets… I have about… three million in the TARDIS. It's a little confusing." The Doctor called back out from the hallway. Amy rolled her eyes and ran after him. Dean turned to Sam, mouthing 'three million' in disbelief. Sam shrugged.

"Doctor!"

"There they are! Come along, Pond!"

The Doctor and Amy came stumbling back in, hands full of teetering stacks of spray paint, metal paint, welding tools, and salt.

"Group project!" The Doctor called out cheerily from behind the large stack of supplies in his arms, his face not even visible.

* * *

a/n: CHAPTER 9! We're back onto the regular programming, and will be updating weekly. Stay tuned, and as always, we read everything you guys write to us, and we love you all 3 It's literally what keeps us going, and without y'all this fic wouldn't be here.


	11. Chapter 10

Castiel sat silently on the roof, watching the cars travel by him below. His brow was furrowed in frustration, as he was still angrily trying to find who has assaulted Dean, Sam and the others in the TARDIS.

For some reason, Cas had not been able to locate the demons. But the energy he had felt in the ship seemed to be extremely strong, and… familiar.

The demons were hiding themselves from him, obviously, as Castiel assumed they would. Possibly even completely angel-proofing their locations, but Castiel doubted this, as he was still able to feel the demons, if weakly. The dark, electric, throbbing low vibrations of their true forms, bound across the city with every movement the demons made. Cas had been sitting on the roof for hours in a pointless, quiet concentration, the time now being the very early morning, with the sun just a sliver on the horizon.

Perhaps I should go back and get Dean and Sam. They would be able to help, Cas speculated, still watching the brightly lit vehicles circle aimlessly beneath him. He sighed, and shook his head slightly. No. They would just slow me down. Castiel was planning only for a short reconnaissance mission as well. He had no intention to attack the demons, or even alert them of his presence. Of course, Dean is still worried. Castiel thought, smiling. Dean was always worried, and it was something that Castiel still had to get used to. Cas had never really had anyone worry about only him before. Not worrying for him as a soldier of Heaven, or the captain of the garrison, or the leader of a revolution, but just him as himself, Castiel.

Something that sounded like a loud bang in his head startled Castiel out of his trance, and he jumped up. The warning came quickly, and was sharp. It felt like his whole body had pins and needles. He was on edge, and Cas could feel his grace was agitated, flitting around in his vessel.

Somewhere in London, there was another angel.

Cas immediately went for his angel blade, expertly spinning the sharp metal sword in his hand, waiting for one of Raphael's followers to jump out at him, baring his or her own blade.

But nothing came, and Castiel was only left with the noises of the city. He warily sheathed his sword. Cas knew that he was taking a risk, taking time out of the war to help the Winchesters with this mission, but at the same time, Castiel didn't want to deal with any other demons besides Crowley and his supporters at the moment. Especially not one working towards the same cause as Raphael, the start of the apocalypse. Again.

Castiel tilted his head, closing his eyes just a bit to concentrate, trying to pinpoint on the location of his brother or sister.

Slowly, the building flickered into his mind: a decrepit, graffiti colored squat building, a little ways south.

Castiel stepped off the roof, thrusting himself into invisible flight, and landed in front of the old factory in the same step.

Castiel looked around the area, still dark, but ever so slowly growing lighter. The road was litter and dust ridden, with rusty shipping trucks messily lining the street, embellished with fading logos. There was not a soul around, and the only noise was the flitting of birds waking up for the day, and the faint noise of cars in the distance.

Castiel appeared in the building, landing in the middle of the large, open and dark room silently. He could still feel the subdued presence of the angel, but much more clearly now. It now mingled with the darker tones of the demon's presences.

Strange, that an angel is with these demons. Castiel thought, striding across the factory, heading towards a thin set of metal stairs that led to the second floor. He must have been ambushed, or be fighting them, or- Castiel stopped, his face falling as he felt the grace again, stronger. Fallen. He could feel it now, the unpredictable and tainted tones in the usually ethereal, and steady grace. He was dealing with a fallen angel.

Castiel hurried up the steps, hoping that his choice not to fly would attract less attention than his steps on the stairs.

Cas looked around the second floor, which was even more dim than the first, dark cloths draped over the large windows of the factory. Unlit candles were lined up in the middle of the floor, forming circle and swirling shapes, with bloody symbols traced around them. Cas' eyes followed the shapes, widening when he saw the copper bowl filled with charred herbs, blood. Dog bones and eagle feathers littered the floor, burnt at their edges.

"No…" Cas left his mouth open as he turned around, ready to fly out and straight back to the TARDIS. He had to tell the Doctor and the rest immediately that they had summoned someone-

"Not so fast," The demon stepped out from behind the steel pillar, grinning maliciously through her red lipstick, "Angel." The word rolled off hatefully from her tongue. She advanced, knocking Cas back with a huge shove. Cas struggled to get up, grunting, but couldn't fly away. His panicked eyes circled the room, stopping in fear at the angel proofing sigil that had newly appeared on the pillar by the demon.

"What, can't fly away?" Another demon cackled, coming from behind Cas. Castiel spun around, taking out his angel blade in defense.

"Let me go." Castiel growled as intimidating at he could, but he could already feel his power draining away.

"And why would we do that?" The female demon said, stepping towards Castiel. Castiel backed up, tripping on the candles around him. The demon kept approaching him, smiling. Cas swung his sword towards her, trying to catch her shoulder with the blade, but she easily dodged it, grabbing Castiel's wrist and twisting him down onto the floor, crushing into his shoulder blade with her knee. He gasped, gritting his teeth as he felt his vessel's shoulder pop out of place. "We didn't get out all the way here for nothing." The demon threw Cas' arm to the ground, and stepped delicately away from his prone body.

"You created the angel's resonance? How did you hide from me?" Cas grasped his shoulder, struggling to get upright, and trying to turns toward the demon.

"They didn't create it, I did. And it's fairly easy to hide demons when you have an angel on your side." A third voice emerged from the darkness. Castiel felt dread wash over him as he recognized the angel's grace: It was sharp, and impatient, electricity crackling throughout it, but still just a sickly shadow of it's past self.

"Furfur." Castiel said, finally realizing where he had recognized the name Furtur from. The large, muscular man appeared out of the shadows, his arms crossed, looking down at the crumpled angel below him with pity.

"Furfur?" Malthus said, a confused look on his face.

"The name that 'Father' gave to me. Furtur was a stupid mispronunciation on the part of the humans. I encountered them when I would bring lightning to Earth. The name had a certain ring to it, though." Furtur's black eyes danced in the dim light.

"It's been a long time, old friend." Castiel said cautiously, trying to bide his time as he figured out how to get out this.

"Old friend? I hardly find that an appropriate term." The demon scoffed.

"Before you left Heaven-"

Furtur took angry steps towards the angel on the ground, grabbing Castiel by the neck, bringing Cas up to Furtur's own eye height.

"Left? Before they threw me out! And left me for dead! On this primitive, dirty, ugly rock! They took away my immortality- nearly all of my grace- And you did nothing! You were our captain, our leader. You were meant to protect us. Did you think it was fair, what they did to me?" Furtur's eyes shifted back to the dark brown of his vessel, not breaking eye contact with Castiel. Furtur squeezed his hand tighter around Castiel's throat.

"Furtur, we do need him." Vine reminded her second-in command, not really paying attention as she poured a circle of holy oil on the other side of the room. "Try not to damage him too much."

Furtur dropped Castiel, letting him fall painfully onto his dislocated shoulder.

"You disobeyed orders from Heaven." Castiel managed to choke out.

"Because you've been so good recently… Stopping the apocalypse? Changing destiny? Throwing Michael in the cage? Becoming attached to humans? You've been a very bad boy recently. You might as well be on my level." Furtur tsk-ed, laughing.

"What I did… I did to help people." Castiel stood up again, stumbled, but managed to lash out towards Furtur, trying to catch him off guard. Furtur easily avoided the messy attack, and threw Castiel against the wall, breaking the bricks beneath him. A dark curtain fell off the window, allowing early morning light to stream into the room.

"And see where it got you to? Now all your friends are going to die!" Furtur growled, advancing towards Cas again. Furtur kicked him roughly in the gut, and again in the face, and again, and again, his steel-toed boot being planted widely across Castiel's body. Furtur's attacks grew in intensity until Cas could feel the different bones and skin snapping and breaking as each kick was placed.

"Furtur…" Malthus called, who was looking on the scene in amusement. As Furtur continued, clearly not listening. Malthus stopped smiling, glancing at Vine on the other side of the room. "Furtur, we don't want to kill him."

"None-" Furtur grunted as he brought Castiel up, tossing him towards Malthus. "of this-" Furtur kicked Castiel again. "Can kill him!" Furtur reached into the bloodied and broken angel's coat, bringing out the angel blade. Furtur spit towards Cas, then looked back up to Malthus, grinning. "Just a little payback. But this-" Furtur regarded the blade in his hands, fully aware of it's power. "Can!" Malthus nervously looked back to Vine again, who was marching towards them.

"Furtur, you can't kill him-"

Furtur rolled his eyes, and tossed the blade to Malthus, who juggled with it frantically before being able to grasp it firmly.

"I know. Vine would kill me first. If she could." Something reminiscent of a smirk played on Furtur's features as he stared cockily at Vine. "That's for you, Malthus, the big weapons expert."

Vine looked at Furtur with a less than amused face. "I could kill you, and I would."

"Um- Vine-" Malthus cut in.

Furtur turned to Vine, snarling, "I'm sure you would try to, demon."

"Don't act as though you're different than me. You're no longer an angel, not even a fallen angel. You were decommissioned, and are near powerless now. I was given the higher position, and I was deemed better by Lucifer himself-"

"Who, if you didn't notice, is currently imprisoned. Do you really think his choices matter currently?"

"Vine!" Malthus grabbed his senior's collar, dragging her back out of her argument. Malthus pointed furiously towards the floor.

The trio looked down at the ground, towards where the angel should have been, but all that was left was a bloody puddle.

"What the Hell!" Vine screeched, searching immediately for the light coat in the dark room, catching a glimpse of the dirty, bloody thing fluttering down the stairs.

"How did he-" Malthus started, but he was grabbed by Furtur, who was following Vine, sprinting towards Cas.

"I'm not completely powerless yet." Castiel mumbled. He made his way down the stairs as fast as he could with several broken ribs and severe internal bleeding. I just have to… get out of the area… of the sigil… His mind was flickering in and out of consciousness, as even though it was true that these wounds wouldn't kill Castiel, it was awfully hard to function in a human vessel that was suffering massive blood loss that he had no ability to heal in the slightest.

Castiel tested the borders of the sigil again, concentrating on trying to send a message to Dean, or Sam, or to anyone who would listen. Demons are summoning… captured. The message was scattered, but he hoped to God that at least it would get across.

But the thought just bounced around in his head again, and he knew that it would it even have made it to a person across the street, let alone across London.

Castiel sighed, and was almost resigned to just letting himself be captured. His vessel was suffering too greatly to fly, and with each step, his legs got harder and harder to move. But he continued, if only for the sake of the collateral damage from being captured- He didn't know what the demons and Furfur wanted him for, but it couldn't have been for anything good.

Castiel had nearly reached the door when he felt a pain like he had never felt before, and screamed.

It was a white hot pain, clean and bright, pure. It shattered through his vessel, and his consciousness, all the way down to his grace, which writhed in pain at the attack.

"And where do you think you're going?" Malthus whispered in his ear, his smarmy grin clear on his voice.

Castiel fell as the angel blade was slid cleanly out of thigh, his grace glowing faintly out of the wide, bloody wound.

"Malthus!" Vine barked at him, bringing the snivelling demon to attention. "What do you think you're doing? We can't kill the angel!"

"He didn't kill Castiel, he just maimed him. Possibly permanently!" Furtur said gleefully.

"I made sure to stab him somewhere that wouldn't kill him immediately." Malthus said, a little bashfully, a little proud.

Vine looked on Castiel suspiciously. "Are you sure he won't die?"

Malthus cast his eyes down on the blade, admiring it. "This is one of the most accurate and unique blades I've ever held." Malthus pursed his lips at it, bringing it closer to his face. "Now if I can only figure out how to copy them-"

"Those can kill demons too, you know." Furtur shot Malthus a glance, who has the pointed end of the blade towards his face.

Malthus blanched and drew the thing away from him, holding it delicately by the hilt in his two fingers.

Vine rolled her eyes and Malthus snickered. Vine tiredly picked up Castiel, throwing him roughly over her shoulder, eliciting a groan from the angel.

"Let's put him in the holy fire, just to make sure he doesn't try this senseless shit again."

Castiel was thrown into the circle, his face landing only inches from the holy oil. It was unlit, he still scrambled away from it, biting his lip as pressure was put on stab wound.

"What, scared of becoming angel barbeque?" Malthus sneered. He snapped his fingers, and his palm ignited. The fire played around his hand, hovering just above the surface of his skin. He touched the oil with one finger, and the fire exploded out around the circle, causing Cas to bring himself into even smaller ball in the center of it.

Vine smiled, observing her work, and then the rest of the room."Fix that, Furtur." Vine gestured to the fallen curtain, still illuminating the room. "You know the Master doesn't like it too light. He needs his better vessel before he's able to handle Earth in all it's glory. He hasn't been topside… well… since the beginning."

"Your master." Furtur muttered, flicking a wrist to levitate the thick cloth back in front of the window.

"Furtur, even if I couldn't kill you…" Vine stepped towards the giant man, staring up at him, her eyes crinkling in grey intensity. "He certainly will." Vine warned, staring at him coldly. "I'm going to get him now, to show that we completed our work. Malthus, come." Vine turned on her heel, Malthus trailing behind her, his hands in his pockets, as they went towards the foreman's room of the second floor.

Furtur let out a shaky breath, and leaned against the pillar behind him.

Castiel watched him, Furtur's body full of aggression and hate, and not only directed towards Castiel himself this time.

"You know, I did think it was strange that one of the fallen is serving under a witch's idol." Castiel croaked out. Furtur turned. "Yes, you still losing much of your power, became mortal, but… you think yourself equal in caliber to the Devil, don't you?"

Furtur shook his head. "I'm not an idiot, Castiel. I know I'm not Lucifer. I want him to return, clearly, or I wouldn't be doing this." Furtur looked towards the dark door of the back room. "Mostly, I just don't like serving under bitches." Furtur looked down at Castiel, whose blood was still spreading across his pants. "What about you, working with humans? Did you learn nothing from watching them with us for all those years? They're beasts, Castiel." Furtur approached the circle, pity in his eyes. "God tried to put all of his creations before us, when we were the best ones. Yet, he told us to love them more, to respect them more, to protect them before even ourselves. To sacrifice our whole beings to this stupid, petty universe."

"We are not better than them, Furfur." Castiel closed his eyes, trying to ignore the pain.

"You're working with them, yes? The humans? Don't you realize that all the humans will end up doing is disappointing you?" Furtur shouted, the fire being reflected in his blackening eyes.

Castiel smiled feebly. "Not the ones I'm with."

Castiel felt the presence before he even saw the host, something darker than Vine, Furtur or Malthus ever could have been. Something incredibly old. It radiated with corruption, and left Castiel feeling darker and darker inside. His anger, hate and shame towards everything, the war, Dean, Sam, himself, lashed out, nearly making him sob with grief and pain.

Furtur brought his chin up, standing straighter as the small figure made his way through the shifting gloom, leaning on Vine and Malthus as he did.

As he drew closer to the fire, Castiel was able to see the man more closely, and to his surprise, he discovered that he wasn't a man at all. He was a boy. Twelve, or thirteen, it was just a skinny little boy. Castiel cocked his head, squinting in confusion. The boy had large, baby blue eyes, that were rimmed with dark circles. His blonde hair was blood splattered, and he was pale, very, very pale. He had patches of skin peeling off all over his body, revealing festering and bubbling red skin.

All feeling in Castiel's body was diverted to the sinking feeling in his gut as he realized what the boy was.

As the boy was gingerly let go by Malthus and Vine, he stared at Castiel, his eyes slowly tracing over the various wounds, bruises, and bones sticking awkwardly up out of skin.

A chair was placed down for the boy, who was struggling even more to stand.

"What-" Castiel tried to speak, but his voice was taken as the boy closed his fist, also closing Castiel's mouth.

"Should we send the message?" Vine asked.

The boy nodded tiredly, and as the three began to break off to do their next task, he held up one finger, pausing the whole room.

"Torment the angel. We need to show the heroes that they must save him, or he shall die." The boy's voice was high, and so beautiful that it nearly hurt Castiel. The boy crossed his legs, staring at Castiel as Malthus swept on hand over the fire, bringing all the glowing flame back to him. Malthus slammed a chair behind Cas, dragging the angel down. Castiel nearly screamed as his leg was bumpily shoved onto the seat of the chair.

Malthus delicately took out the angel blade with a newly gloved hand, pressing it down into Castiel's skin.

"Whatever the Master wants." Malthus mumbled, ignoring Castiel's silent screams.

* * *

A/N: Sorry for the slightly delayed update! But here is chapter #10 in this little story of ours... quite Cas!centric. Anywho, as always, thank you so much for all the reviews, follows, favorites, simply reading this, really any and all support you give! We love your response and they make us cry tears of joy.

Less than 3 weeks until season 9 premieres- **BREATHES HEAVILY**


	12. Chapter 11

"So how long have you two known the Doctor?" John asked, a little tentatively, awkwardly balancing the spray paint and ancient Babylonian book in his hands.

It had been a long and frightfully confusing day for Dr. John Watson.

The discovery that angels and demons were real and existed had been disorienting, and had been followed with very little resting time. They had just barely convinced the Doctor they all needed some sleep before getting back to work. John and Sherlock had gotten just under eight hours of sleep before the Doctor barged into their rooms, saying that they had spent far too much time in Earth's orbit and would soon attract some attention from Earth government, even with the TARDIS' cloaking shields, and that they needed to land and demon-proof the TARDIS now. Though, truthfully, they really didn't do anything than all blankly stare at the photos from Sherlock's phone for a couple of hours before Sherlock had the bright idea of splitting up into groups to get more done.

Between that certain Biblical revelation, and the revelation of aliens existing (Then, of course the very stressful attack and near killing of Sherlock, by demons.), John was sure that a pint or two could have been quite good for him at this point.

The least he could do to try to regain some normalcy to his life was to make small talk.

Rory looked up at the doctor, surprised by the breaking of the silence in the room. Since Sherlock, Sam, and the Doctor had left to look at Sherlock's photos of the body that was cut up at the morgue, Amy, Rory, John, Dean and himself had just been silently working on the Doctor's idea of a "group project", which involved tediously imbedding lines of salt in the floor of the TARDIS, painting demon sigils all over the walls and door.

Of course, as none of them really knew what demon sigils were, the one who was an expert (Sam) had to go research the important work, while Rory, Amy and John were left with Dean, who was alternatively too bored with the work to help them or didn't know what the shape of the symbol even was.

"I've known him for my whole life, since I was just a kid." Amy said, smiling at the thought of the fish sticks and custard. "But, I didn't really travel with him until… how long has it been, Rory?"

"Oh, just about… five years at this point." Rory said, scratching his chin.

"You've been with this psycho for five years?" Dean asked, surprised.

"The Doctor's not a psycho." Amy spoke sharply, shooting Dean an unpleasant look. "He's just different from us." Amy returned busily to her work, clearly trying to ignore the conversation.

"Well… I mean, you obviously know, he time travels. And we could have stayed with him continuously, but we decided to have a try at a normal life. Jobs and all, you know, a house. So he drops us back at our place when we're done saving some strange planet in another galaxy. But for the Doctor, it's hard for him to know exactly how long he goes off, or at least in our time it's hard for him to know… so, maybe, what a week is for him is six months for us… He just drops in when he remembers to." Rory laughed awkwardly. "It's a bit complicated." Amy sighed, turning back to the boys.

"We're lucky enough to be able to do the things we do, we're complaining." Amy looked at Rory pointedly, which made Dean grin.

"So he just… leaves you here sometimes? Waiting for him to come back?" John asked.

"I guess in a way-" Amy started, but was interrupted by Rory.

"We're not waiting for him. We don't need the Doctor." Rory glanced at Amy, who was now looking at Rory with a mix of confusion and disgust.

"Trouble in paradise?" Dean chuckled, grabbing up his spray paint again.

"You're a bit of an ass, you know that?" Amy turned to Dean, hands on hips.

"Come on guys, let's not… fight…" John trailed off as Amy turned to him with daggers in her eyes.

"Honey, I wouldn't call me an ass." Dean grinned at her. "You barely know me."

"Then what would you call yourself?" Amy stepped towards him.

"A little cocky, maybe."

"Key word being little, I presume." Amy gave a pleased look to Dean.

Rory smiled a little behind Amy. Dean blushed, and his smirk was wiped off his face.

"Let's just do what the good Doctor asked us to, no need for this to become a bitchfest…" Dean mumbled, turning around.

"Did you just call me a bitch?" Amy gasped, grabbing Dean's shoulder.

"I mean… technically… I didn't…"

"You don't call my wife a bitch." Rory stepped up, now nearly as angry as Amy.

"Rory, shut up, I can handle myself." Amy said, flippantly, to Rory, who straightaway, did, in fact, shut up.

"Wow, dude, talk about whipped." Dean laughed.

"Dean…" John nervously said, seeing Rory's face turn a beet red color.

"What-" Dean began, but couldn't finish, as Rory had tackled him onto the ground and started to wail on him.

"Don't call my wife a bitch! And I am not whipped!" Rory grunted out between attacks, which Dean easily blocked. Dean was more surprised that that the lanky, awkward man even had the balls to jump him.

"Rory! Stop that!" Amy screamed, trying to pull her husband off of Dean. John sprang forwards, trying to stop them as well, but the duo were rolling all over the floor of the TARDIS, a writhing mass of punches and flailing limbs.

Dean flipped Rory over expertly, straddling him as he pinned Rory's arms onto his own chest. Rory uselessly tried to kick Dean off, but the stronger man held on strong.

"You gonna calm down now, little guy?" Dean laughed. Rory gave another anger filled kick, catching Dean by surprise, who was thrown off. Rory swung his leg out, catching Dean in the temple.

Before Rory could jump back into it, Amy grabbed him, pulling him away from Dean. John hurriedly helped Dean up, steadying Dean as he swayed slightly.

"Fuck…" Dean groaned, holding his head in his hand.

Rory was injured himself, his face bleeding through little cuts from the struggle. Most of the blood came from his nose, which was a bent on an awkward angle and already swelling.

"You fuckin' broke his nose!" Amy roared, approaching Dean herself.

"I broke his nose, he gave me a concussion. We're even." Dean complained. His head was killing him.

"Amy, that's not broken, just ice it. And Dean, I don't think you actually have a concussion, but you definitely will have a nasty bump. And maybe need a couple stitches." John said, examining the gash on Dean's head carefully. "It was kind of your fault, though." John said, under his breath.

"Shut up." Dean grumbled, looking up as he heard footsteps falling from the hallway.

"Doctor, are you sure you don't have any other… clearer books?" Sam asked, calling out searchingly into the vast library of the TARDIS. The book he had on translating Babylonian, though it was very in depth, was completely in French.

They had been gone from the rest of the group for about an hour, and had spent all of the time in the library. The room seemed to go on forever, twisting into strange shapes that seemed physically impossible, with books balancing in shelves on ceilings and forming towering staircases to upper levels of the complex.

"Absolutely fascinating… This place, it should be completely impossible." Sherlock called out as he stared at the intricate architecture of the area around him.

"It's the TARDIS' personal gravity field! It allows her to do all kind of wonderful things." The Doctor poked his head out from the bookshelf next to Sam, surprising him. The Doctor frowned, looking at the book in Sam's hands. "What's wrong with that book, Samuel?" Sam laughed at the name.

"Nothing… I mean, I just don't read French. Want to give it try?" The Doctor shrugged, and grabbed the book. After staring at it for a few moments, he looked at Sam in confusion.

"Why would I be able to read it?" The Doctor said, tossing the book back to Sam.

"I mean… You're an ancient alien… don't you know all the languages of Earth, or something?"

"Hardly! The TARDIS translates anything in a language I don't know into something I can understand! Which is only Gallifreyan…" The Doctor trailed off, delving back into the shifting dimness of the library.

Sherlock rolled his eyes, and sighed, grabbing the book from Sam.

"Which part do you want to read?"

Sam stared at Sherlock in surprise. "I mean, I was just comparing phrases and symbols to the ones in your picture… But you speak French?"

Sherlock rolled his eyes. "I'm a genius. I obviously speak another language to English… If I didn't, all those years at prep school would have been even more pointless than they were."

"Why didn't you say anything before then? When I kept saying that I didn't speak French?" Sam asked, exasperated.

"To be perfectly honest with you, I wasn't actually listening." Sherlock said, squinting at the pages before him as he flipped through them. Sam sighed, leaning back against the bookshelf. Sherlock stopped his search abruptly. "Wait… hand me my phone."

Sam gave Sherlock's phone back as he stared at the man with interest.

"Did you find anything?"

Sherlock looked up, excitement in his eyes.

"I think I did, but I need to cross reference it with another one of these books. Doctor!"

The Time Lord poked his head back out of a bookshelf, this time on completely across the room from the two men.

"Doctor, we need as many other of your books on ancient Babylonian as you have."

Sam, Sherlock, and the Doctor stared down at the scattered papers below them, now nearly four hours past Sherlock's breakthrough with the books.

It had been a long and complicated process filled with annoyances and possibly a couple of swears, but Sherlock had finally gotten to explaining to the two what the bloody message meant.

"It's calling to someone, or something." Sherlock said, frustrated.

"Yes, we know that, but to who?" Sam, to say the least, was as much angered by Sherlock's snottiness as Sherlock was angered by Sam's thick-headedness, but was much better at hiding it than his sleuthing partner.

"I don't know." Sherlock groaned. "That's the hardest part to translate… it's a very specific symbol, and it's not in any of these books, so I can only assume it's a name."

"Well then, what else does it say, the rest of the message?"

"We cry toward the gatherer, the corrupter- arise… whatever the last word is."

The three men contemplated this.

"So… it's part of a summoning ritual?"

"You are the demon expert, but that is the assumption I would make."

Sam clenched his jaw as he flipped through the Doctor's copy of the Lesser Key of Solomon.

"I have… literally no idea what demon this could be. And this book- it doesn't even catalog all of them. Are you sure it says nothing else?"

Sherlock rolled his eyes. "Unless the last three hours we spent translating this were a waste, then yes, I am sure. I'm not an idiot, I would be able to tell if there was a whole extra word."

Sam turned to Sherlock, sighing. "You know, you really don't have to be such a condescending-"

"Rory! Stop it!" The three men reared their heads as Amy's voice was heard rocketing through the TARDIS. They all exchanged worried glances, and then headed towards the noise.

"What the hell happened here?" Sam cried out, emerging from the hallway with Sherlock and the Doctor right behind him.

"Where have you three been?" John asked huffily.

"Rory here jumped me." Dean hissed as John applied antibiotics to the wound.

"Dean called me a bitch. And is just generally kind of a dick." Amy, scoffing. "I need ice for Rory."

"I'll go get that right away." The Doctor already looked uncomfortable in the violent and angry situation, and jumped at the chance to leave.

"Wow, Dean, you really know how to get along with the neighbors, don't you?" Sam hissed at his brother. Sam at least trusted Dean to be somewhat complacent around their current 'team'.

"I can't help if a bitch is a bitch." Dean said, at the same testing how much he could move his face.

"I swear to God-" Amy fumed, again moving towards the man on the bench.

"He doesn't mean it." Sam quickly stood in between the two. "He's just an ass." Sam offered an apologetic smile, which seemed to calm Amy somewhat.

"At least one of you has some sense." Amy scoffed. The Doctor had run back in with Rory's ice, and she quickly applied it to Rory's injured nose.

"Well, this is an amusingly archaic display of testosterone." Sherlock said, sitting airily on the bench to the left of Amy and Rory. The comment earned him a dirty look from everyone else in the room, except the Doctor.

"Did you all get to finish demon proofing this old girl?" The Doctor said cheerily, trying to redirect the conversation to a safer topic that hopefully wouldn't end in fistfights.

"Yeah, no thanks to you guys." Dean scoffed.

"I have to agree with the violent idiot on that one. What were you guys doing for all that time?" Rory asked, his voice nasally.

"Well, for one thing, we found out that they were summoning something that required at least one whole human sacrifice." Sam said, glancing back down at his notes.

The room quieted as this information sunk in.

"So, that guy with all the crazy-ass symbols in him… he was the sacrifice?" Dean asked, staring at his brother. Sam nodded, his face grim. "For what, a demon?"

"I mean, we can only assume. And it's powerful, something that needs a live sacrifice the size of a human."

"So… what do we do now?" John asked, breaking another long silence. The group looked to each other.

"I mean… I guess... Well, Cas isn't back yet." Sam said, his brow furrowing. "Which is actually a little weird."

"Yeah, shouldn't he have called, or something, by now?" Dean asked, suddenly reminded of his angel.

"I mean, he was tracking the demons. Who knows how far they could have gone?" Rory pointed out.

This left the room at another stalemate.

"We could just, you know, go out. To kill time. We've been in this… thing… for a whole day. " John offered up.

"What, go to a pub? In a middle of an Earth threatening crisis?" Sherlock mocked.

There was another pause, as the group actually contemplated the option.

"Actually-" Rory started.

"It's not a completely terrible idea." Sherlock finished. "If we have nothing else to do, that is. I could go for dinner. Or lunch. What time is it, exactly?"

John checked his watch, replying to Sherlock with a quick, "Four in the afternoon."

"I could go for some booze!" Dean stretched as he stood up, throwing his coat over his shoulder. Sam rolled his eyes. "What? If we're going to die again because of this stupid apocalypse, then we might as well die drunk!" Dean's face darkened as he was reminded of his angel, who he hadn't heard from in over twelve hours. Not that this was necessarily strange, but it did worry him, as it always did. "I mean… we might want to wait for Cas."

"He was following the demons, right? Who knows where they could have gone." Amy pointed out.

"I guess there's no harm… but we're bringing the knife. And salt. And everyone here is getting a anti-possession tattoo drawn on them." Sam warned, uncapping a black sharpie.

"Oh, calm down, Sammy! If Cas is on top of them, no demon is going to come near us." Dean grabbed his brother's shoulder, slapping it appreciatively.

"There's a pub just a couple blocks down Baker Street." John said as he and Sherlock walked out. Sam grabbed the duffle, and ran after them, wanting to take another look at the picture of the corpse.

Dean turned to Amy before they walked out. "Sorry for all the shit before… I was just tired, and a little hungry." Amy sighed deeply. "You're actually okay…" Dean thought about it for a minute, and then looked back towards Amy. "And pretty hot!" He shot her his 'lady-killer' smile, and then trailed off towards his brother.

"Still… her husband… here. No one seems to be able to grasp that." Rory said, hopelessly.

"They're just surprised that I could have gotten a guy like you," Amy smiled at her husband, and kissed him on the cheek. "I wonder what they meant by die again…" The Doctor watched his two friends proudly, and carefully locked the newly repaired TARDIS doors.

"Now you be good, Sexy."

"Yeah, well I bet you're good, Jasmine." Dean murmured to the curvy brunette who has shimmied up besides him on the bar. Amy, Rory, the Doctor, Sam, John and Sherlock watched in horror from the table behind Dean as the cliché torrent of pick-up lines was thrown at the girl, in Dean's usual mating habit.

"Is he always like this?" John asked, a confused smile on his face.

"Pretty much." Sam muttered into his pint, before he took a long drink. In their second hour at the bar, Dean had gotten in such close proximity to the half-tipsy auburn haired girl that he was nearly grinding on her in the middle of the establishment.

"That seems extremely unclean." The Doctor said while he was munching on crisps. Jasmine appeared to be licking Dean's hand.

"I guess he's not exactly the long-term relationship kind of guy, then." Rory quipped, also entranced by the strange and unsettling flirting.

"I believe this is one the defining reasons I choose not to have sexual relationships. This… it's absurd." Sherlock whispered to John, who just rolled his eyes.

"You know, not everyone is like this, Sherlock."

"What, like you're any different? I've seen how you talk to Sarah, and all the others." Sherlock sipped his pint.

John stared at Sherlock in dismay. He hated it when Sherlock talked about John's girlfriends. It just reminded John how much Sherlock really saw of his personal life.

Dean had moved with Jasmine, towards the jukebox, where she had her arms wrapped around his neck. He ran his hands over her waist and along her tan jacket. It surprised him how much it reminded him of a trench coat.

"So how good are you, Jasmine?"

She moved up on her tiptoes to get her mouth to his ear. "Really good. Better than anyone you've ever dreamed of." Dean felt shivers as her sultry voice traveled down his body.

"So what do you know, huh? How can I be sure you're so good?" Jasmine smiled, and backed up, towards the back exit of the pub, wagging her finger at Dean to follow her. He did, with quite a lot of vigor. It had been such a long time since he had gotten laid.

"He's on the move!" Amy inputted, pointing towards Dean.

"I should probably stop him before he goes to some stranger's house in London, shouldn't I?" Sam watched his brother, looking fairly drunk, but fairly happy as well. "Maybe just a minute more."

"Be careful, even a couple minutes and they could start having sex right there, in front of everyone, by the looks of it." John raised his eyebrows. Amy and Rory laughed, and Sam grinned. Sherlock stared at John, looking unamused.

"That seems very unlikely." Sherlock muttered.

"It would be quite… messy." The Doctor said, clearly uncomfortable with the topic of conversation.

Jasmine wrapped her hands around Dean's waist, bringing him close to her as she brought her mouth back up to her ear.

"So you want to know how good I am?" She cooed, running her fingernails over Dean's back.

"God, yes." Dean said to himself, his nose buried in Jasmine's fruity smelling hair.

"I'm so good, I know that if you don't save him, Castiel will die." Jasmine breathed into Dean's ear.

The music in the bar stopped for just a moment in Dean's mind as he tried to comprehend what he just heard.

"Uh, what did you say, baby?" Dean laughed.

"That little angel is suffering, and he will die, be assured of that, unless you save him." Jasmine was looking directly into Dean's eyes. Dean's face fell, and he grabbed her wrist harshly.

"What the fuck do you know about Cas?" He demanded, his voice raising. A few patrons around them turned to the couple, staring at them strangely.

Jasmine began to laugh, louder and louder. Dean grabbed both of her arms, shaking her.

"What do you know?"

"Vine says hello, by the way." Jasmine said, momentarily breaking her laughter. Dean's gut dropped.

"You're a fucking witch." Dean growled, backing up Jasmine towards the exit.

"Oi, watch your language with the lady, boy." The bartender said, watching the duo cautiously.

Sam was watching his brother closely, as the sudden turn of events had him confused. Just a minute earlier, Dean was all over the girl, but now he was standing away from her, holding her at an arm's length like she was poisonous.

"Where the hell is he?" Dean demanded, shaking Jasmine harder.

"I'm not telling!" Jasmine laughed.

Dean breathed in deeply through his nose, and then punched her right in the face.

Shouts erupted from all over the bar as the blow was delivered, and Jasmine began to cry. Men ran towards Dean, shoving him away from Jasmine as she wept and fell to the floor. Dean continuously screamed at Jasmine, trying to break away from the men holding him back, taking at least two of them out with knocks, and scratching his way towards Jasmine, who, at this point, was screeching.

Sam, Rory and the rest flew out of their seats at the violence, speedily approaching the scene.

"Your brother attacks women too?" Amy asked furiously.

"No! He's not a complete dick." Sam shouted back to her, trying to break his way through the dense crowd of pissed of Englishmen.

"Where the fuck is he?!" Dean shouted at Jasmine, who was cowering in the corner. A few men ushered her out of the back exit. Dean shrugged off the two men holding him back,

"You like to slap around poor girls?" The bartender roared at Dean.

"Why the hell did you let the bitch go!" Dean turned to him, anger blazing in his eyes.

The bartender proceeded to smack Dean in the face with a tight fist, knocking the man onto the floor.

"Get that bastard out of here!" The bartender kicked Dean once for good measure, then letting the sea of angry patrons push Dean out of the door of the bar.

Shoved into the evening air, Dean immediately turned the corner, looking for any sign of Jasmine, but all he saw leaning on the wall to the side of the bar were a few confused looking smokers.

"Shit." Dean spit out blood that was pooling in his mouth.

Sam exploded out of the bar, searching immediately for his brother.

"Dean, what the hell was that?" Sam cried out, turning his brother towards him.

"Two fights in one day, you're a real gentleman." Amy spit out at Dean.

"Why would you just hit that poor girl?" John was looking at Dean with confusion and revulsion on his face.

Dean, however, was not paying attention to any of these comments, instead, he was looking down at his phone, which had just received a text message. Dean clenched his fist angrily as he saw the message, and tossed the phone to Sam.

Sam looked at the screen. It was a picture of Castiel, bloodied, bruised, broken and barely conscious, the angel blade held up to his neck by a very pleased looking Malthus. Sam gave the phone to the Doctor, who stared at the image with a near blank expression before passing it to the rest.

"What… happened?" Amy asked in horror.

"She wasn't a 'poor girl'. She was one of Vine's followers, a freaking witch." Dean said through gritted teeth. "She was our only lead to Cas, and she got away."

"Oh, God." John muttered as the photo was passed to him. "He definitely has broken bones, massive bruising… I can't see the extent of the damage… But he's an angel. He got shot and he was fine… couldn't he just heal himself like before?"

"The angel blade- the thing they have at his neck- it's able to kill angels." Sam said through his now dry mouth. "How does she even have your number, Dean?" Dean glared at Sam, sighing.

"I gave it to her. When I thought she was a normal chick, not a crazy, demon-worshipping bitch. We need to get to Cas. Now."

"Dean, you said it yourself, we have no idea where they could be-"

"Not… exactly." John said, examining Sherlock's face. His friend had his eyes trained on the grainy image on the phone. John could tell Sherlock was breaking down the image in his mind, piecing together clues from every detail of the photograph.

Sherlock dialed a number quickly on his phone, talking quietly into the phone, and slipped it back into his pocket. The rest of the group watched him anxiously.

"He's here." Sherlock flipped his phone towards the group, the screen darkened with a picture showing the ramshackle factory.

"How the hell do you even-"

"Just, don't even question it at this point." John said hurriedly.

"Let's go, now." Dean began to walk away, and everyone began to follow him, except the Doctor.

"Wait." The Doctor babbled, pausing Dean just enough so he could shoot the Doctor a pissed off look.

"Why? Cas is- he's dying. We have to go." Dean struggled out, clenching and unclenching his fists.

"I think it would be… unwise for all of us to go to the factory together."

"Why? Strength in numbers?"

Sam rested a hand on his brother's shoulder, nodding his head. "Dean, the Doctor has a point- it could be a trap."

"But Cas-"

"Yes, and we all very much want to save Castiel. But I don't believe all of us should go to save him. If the few of us who go don't get back for some reason, then we'll have a back up." The Doctor said, trying to sound optimistic again.

Dean glowered, but grudgingly nodded. "I can take Amy and Rory back to the TARDIS- they have less experience with fighting."

"Hey! We could still help!" Amy said indignantly.

"Fine." Dean turned, starting to walk away from the group to the main street for a cab.

Sam watched his brother's back worriedly. He knew what Dean felt like when someone he cared about was in trouble- irrational, and angry. Sam quickly explained the basics of fighting with rock salt shotguns to Sherlock and John as they quickly followed Dean.

Amy, Rory, and the Doctor watched as Dean, Sam, Sherlock and John were whisked away in a dark cab. Amy bit her lip nervously.

"I hope Castiel will be alright." Amy said as she nervously picked at her anti-possession Sharpie tattoo on her hand. Sure, she had had very little interaction with the angel, but he seemed nice enough, and was an angel, after all.

"I'm sure he will be." The Doctor said, his voice very much unsure. He smiled at the Ponds, and then ushered them the other way, back towards the TARDIS. "Let's go make sure our little ship is doing alright!"

From a dark roof above, Jasmine quietly watched the Doctor move away with Amy and Rory.

She closed her eyes, focusing on the goblet of blood in her hands that she had taken from one of the lovely men who had helped her away from Dean.

The blood bubbled slightly, turning and boiling in the dark cup.

"The Doctor… he didn't go with them. I don't know what to do." Jasmine stuttered, nervously. She had been specially selected from the coven for the mission, as she was the most devout and well taught in Vine's ways, but she still was nervous around the mistress herself, even her presence. "I can't see what happens next- I don't have the tools to soothsay, at the moment. Or the time." Jasmine waited nervously for a reply, the echoing voice that would ring in her head that meant Vine had heard her message.

_ Don't worry, my child. It is all going very much according to plan. We will need to make some small adjustments, but you did… well._ The ethereal voice sounded in her head, and Jasmine smiled widely, nearly breaking into shouts of joy right there on the rooftop.

"Thank you, Lady Vine."

_Your help will be pivotal in the next steps… You must go to the blue box, and do exactly what I tell you._

"Anything for the mistress." Jasmine closed her eyes, listening to the instructions bubbling up from the frothy blood as if it was gospel.

(A/N: woowwowo Hey guys! It's been a month, and we're so so so sorry. Really. High School's a bitch! Anyways, we're aiming to add a bit more Johnlock and a bit of a more Sherlock-focused plot. So expect lots of deduction and sexual tension. As always, we love you forever and would really appreciate reviews! New chapter next week! Love ya :* -Amelia)


End file.
